I sensed nearly at once that Elster was resisting. Something was being subverted here, his traditional language of response. Stillborn images, collapsing time, an idea so open to theory and argument that it left him no clear context to dominate, just crisp rejection. Out on the street he spoke at last, mostly about his aching knee. No film, no chance, not ever.
I began to think that perhaps what brought us together was none other than a longing to lie low with someone desperate to do the same, someone who asked for very little and might offer a great deal provided you never asked- we were like two convalescents comparing temperature charts, swapping medications, one and the same blanket on both our laps, happy we’d found each other and ready to open up in ways we’d seldom done before, provided each knew convalescence didn’t last forever.