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A neutral place. The chances of finding one these days are slim, maybe even slimmer than Archie’s pinball trick. The sheer quantity of shit that must be wiped off the slate if we are to start again as new. Race. Land. Ownership. Faith. Theft. Blood. And more blood. And more. And not only must the place be neutral, but the messenger who takes you to the place, and the messenger who sends the messenger. There are no people or places like that left… — Smith, Zadie. White Teeth. New York: Vintage Books, 2000: 378.
Just another reason to love Friday.
Phoebe (singing): New York City has no power, and the milk is getting sour. But to me it is not scary, ‘cause I stay away from dairy. LA la, la LA la, LA la…