Sublime

Trout held up a single finger. “One.” “Was it enthusiastic?” “It was insane. The writer said I should be President of the World.” It turned out that the person who had written this letter was Eliot Rosewater, Billy’s friend in the veterans’ hospital near Lake Placid. Billy told Trout about Rosewater. “My God—I thought he was about fourteen years ol

Trout was petrified there on Forty-second Street. It had given him a life not worth living, but I had also given him an iron will to live. This was a common combination on the planet Earth.

Polite