where the writers are
"The Notion of Zero"

It occurs to him on a train, traveling east between obscure points in space, somewhere between the Connecticut cities of Old Saybrook and New London.

'Connecticut,' he says to himself. 'A state of perpetual paradox - the lone "i" of it wedged in a friction of conflicting processes: to "connect" or attach, to "cut" or detach.

Restless and ruminative, he leans back into his seat. From the window of the train night is a dense syrup, poured across the pasty, snow-covered contours of the countryside. Having swallowed meadows and woodlands wholesale, it oozes through houses and apartment buildings, drowning its inhabitants in a sleep that is shallow, pitted by random noises, sticky in the sweat of overworked furnaces.