Ben stood at the window and watched the day dawn.

The view was across bridges, narrows and sounds and out

past the boroughs and toothpaste suburbs into measures of landmass

and sky that could only be called the deep distance.

It was still nighttime down on the river, half night,

and ashy vapors wavered above the smokestacks on the banks.

He imagined the whores were all fled from the lamplit

corners by now, duck butts shaking, other kinds of archaic

business just beginning to stir, produce trucks rolling out of

the markets, news trucks streaming out of the loading docks.


Paraphrases from the novel Cosmopolis by Don DeLillo.