“From the cab stepped a tall old man. Black raincoat and hat and a battered valise. He paid the driver, then turned and stood motionless, staring at the house. The cab pulled away and rounded the corner of Thirty-sixty Street. Kinderman quickly pulled out to follow. As he turned the corner, he noticed that the tall old man hadn't moved but was standing under the streetlight glow, in mist, like a melancholy traveler frozen in time.”

“He pulled out turned west and started driving towards the glow it was thousands of miles away, he started driving towards the glow.”

“After a while he pulled his hat down over his eyes and stood and placed his hands outstretched on the roof of the cab and rode in that manner. As if he were some personage bearing news for the countryside. As if he were some newfound evangelical being conveyed down out of the mountains....”

“I’m a dyslexic dancer. Instead of leading the women, I follow. Quick, cab driver, follow that woman!”

“...a tall, gaunt man with small narrow eyes set deep in his skull like two old sisters trying to spy out of the windows of their house without being noticed themselves.”

“Where does a man go when there are no more corners to turn, when he's running out of hope, out of luck, out of time?”