#im far from the last interlude in my reread but i made an exception to my rule of not reading ahead for this post specifically
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I shelve books; I make out library cards for new patrons; I turn off the microfilm readers careless users sometimes leave on; I joke with Carole Danner about how much I would like to go to bed with her, and she jokes back about how much she'd like to go to bed with me, and both of us know that she's really joking and I'm really not, just as both of us know that she won't stay in a little place like Derry for long and I will be here until I die, taping torn pages in Business Week, sitting down at monthly acquisition meetings with my pipe in one hand and a stack of Library Journals in the other...and waking in the middle of the night with my fists jammed against my mouth to keep in the screams.
Derry: The First Interlude
Sometimes, as when he had been trailing his fingers over the slightly pebbled surface of the stand in which the Memorial Park birdbath was set, or when he had squatted down to look more closely at the trolley tracks which grooved Mont Street in the Old Cape, he would be struck by a profound sense of time... time as something real, as something that had unseen weight, the way sunlight was supposed to have weight (some of the kids in school had laughed when Mrs. Greenguss told them that, but Mike had been too stunned by the concept to laugh; his first thought had been, Light has weight? Oh my Lord, that's terrible!)...time as something that would eventually bury him.
Chapter 6, One of the Missing: A Tale from the Summer of '58
I'm almost done with this diary now—and I suppose a diary is all that it will ever be, and that the story of Derry's old scandals and eccentricities has no place outside these pages. That's fine with me; I think that, when they let me out of here tomorrow, it might finally be time to start thinking about some sort of new life... although just what that might be is unclear to me. I loved you guys, you know. I loved you so much.
Derry: The Last Interlude
#it speaks!#clowntown 4#im far from the last interlude in my reread but i made an exception to my rule of not reading ahead for this post specifically#bc like. MIKE. TIME AS SOMETHING THAT WOULD EVENTUALLY BURY HIM. UNTIL THE MOSS HAD REACHED OUR LIPS AND COVERED UP OUR NAMES!#from age twelve onward i was like its just me and mike hanlon against the world. and i was literally right.#it 1986#mike hanlon
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