A man at night on a dead-quiet street

I love this picture, by Gregory Crewdson. I feel as though I could stare at it for hours. It makes my mind sing. I need a print.

It makes me feel deeply sad – suggesting regret, loss, alienation, dispossession; but it also makes me feel exhilarated – it seems to speak of free will;  the strange uniqueness of people, places, life, and our endless capacity to experience these.

Complicity by Julian Barnes

Possibly my favourite short story in The New Yorker this year.

I love how intimate the story is, how artfully Barnes draws you into it with his narrator’s digressions and remembrances; how he makes you complicit in his story (complicit per his definition, which I also prefer!)

Some great insights too – like the best fiction, it is true.

I haven’t read any Julian Barnes before, but intend to now.