Art is never finished, only abandoned.

From Midway Claude Sylanshine then flew on something called Consolidated Thrust Regional Lines down to Peoria, a terrifying thirty-seater whose pilot had pimples at the back of his neck and reached back to pull a dingy fabric curtain over the cockpit and the beverage service consisted of a staggering girl underhanding you nuts while you chugged a Pepsi.

-The Pale King

I started. Even if the novel isn’t complete, I’m looking forward to the pure genius of the writing.

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