"Sometimes he'd read out loud, a kind of hesitation in his voice, like a man trying to play an instrument he hasn't picked up in a long time. They weren't stories he read, not like they had endings or told a joke. They were like windows into something so strange; he never tried to explain any of it, probably did't understand it himself, maybe nobody did...

Then the street snapped back hard and bright.

She rubbed her eyes and coughed."