Between the computer, a pencil, and a typewriter
half my day passes. One day it will be half a century. – Adam Zagajewski, ‘Self-portrait’
Each received, to the varying degrees their respective pains allowed, an intuition of the askew as, in the neatly stacked slices of lit space between the executive and the distant lament of a custodian’s varm vacuum, the Building’s very silence took on expression: they sensed, almost spinally, the slow release of great breath, a spatial sigh, a slight sly movement of huge lids cracked in wakened affinity with the emptiness that was after all, the reasonable executive realizes, half the Building’s total day.
David Foster Wallace, Girl with curious hair