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.
Causes Michael Dutton Supports
The Salvation Army (yes, it's still out there)
Native American organizations
St. Jude's Children Hospital