““In the car, Edgar felt something like panic. The air itself was turning to cement. He didn't understand that this imprisonment was an illusion, a phantasm of grief. He truly believed that life might be over, that all stories would unfold in the already-lived, the sole place in which his grandmother was not dead. But as he looked out the window, he saw how the landscape moved by so fast that it blurred. Trees and billboards slapped past his consciousness with the clicking intensity of a roulette wheel. Edgar felt a desire for something else. Perhaps there were other arrangements a person could make with time.””
