The New Yorker @NewYorker
“It gave things a mortal focus, a sort of physical poetry, if that makes sense. His temperature. His pulse and blood pressure. His hours of sleep.” Fiction by David Gilbert. https://t.co/pHL2VBDnb8 — PolitiTweet.org
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The New Yorker @NewYorker
“It gave things a mortal focus, a sort of physical poetry, if that makes sense. His temperature. His pulse and blood pressure. His hours of sleep.” Fiction by David Gilbert. https://t.co/pHL2VBDnb8 — PolitiTweet.org