How to Write

Sep 6, 2017 | Prose Porn, Things I wish I'd written

He began to pace every room, like a happy lunatic, waving his hands and reciting the film in great shouts. We listened to him, dazzled, and it seemed we could see the images, like flocks of phosphorescent birds that he set loose for their mad flight through the house.

…from “The Saint,” by Gabriel García Márquez, in Strange Pilgrims.