My heart, to put it more simply, got nostalgic for the present. Always a bad sign. - Jonathan Lethem

As Bruno neared, Stolarsky stepped from behind the door. His feet and legs were bare. He held a pistol, loosely, and wore nothing but a thin T-shirt. The darkness beneath its hem revealed as a scribble of genitals and hair, his penis like a second sarcastic nose.

The big Nazi cat went on raking up thread-loops from my trousers, seemingly intent on single-handedly reinventing Velcro.

Things changed, he thought. Then they didn’t. And we forgot they could again.