Anywhere Could Be Somewhere; Not to Miss The Great Thing weekend-reads

Mark Strand

Anywhere Could Be Somewhere

I might have come from the high country, or maybe the low country, I don’t recall which. I might have come from the city, but what city in what country is beyond me. I might have come from the outskirts of a city from which others have come or maybe a city from which only I have come. Who’s to know? Who’s to decide if it rained or the sun was out? Who’s to remember? They say things are happening at the border, but which border is anyone’s guess. They mention a hotel where it doesn’t matter if you’ve forgotten your suitcase; there’ll be another one waiting, big enough, and just for you.

Not To Miss The Great Thing

It was to happen. He knew it would happen. He would have secret knowledge of when that would be, and be there early to welcome it. The gates to the city were closed. A cloud lowered itself into the central square and disappeared into an unmarked alley. A large woman with sequins in her hair studied him from a distance. A cold rain fell on all the houses but his. Suddenly it stopped, and he walked out into the yellow light. Maybe it’s come, he thought, maybe this is it, maybe this is all it is.

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