Chronicling the crack-up—one commute at a time, one failure at a time—of 1990s attorney Jim Truman, as he tries to keep death at a distance with whatever and whoever he can.
Really, I’m not like that. It’s just that sometimes you have to be something else — be somewhere else — just to, you know, survive. Everybody does it. On the train, I see them every morning, those faces. And in the office, especially if you take a sudden turn after the copy machine, catch them when they think no one’s watching. Life’s hard. You have to do what you can. Right?
Looks at four suburban couples over the weekend as lives and families come together and come apart against a backdrop of nature out of control—the coyote in the back yard—and secret genetic manipulation; not to mention a small newspaper with a big story, and a suicide that won’t stay hidden.
Peter looked across the pool, then up past the fence and the now dark green trees to the gray sky and watched the lightning. ‘Am I,’ he wondered, ‘the only person here thinking “That lightning is over the Seven-Eleven on Route One and headed this way?”‘
The Man Who Froze Bees:
A comedy of manners that asks the age old question: Why shouldn’t an elderly financier pursue all his hobbies?
“Winston,” said his sister Julia, “I don’t blame you for wanting to marry again. I don’t even blame you for wanting to marry someone young. Young people have pep. But marrying someone as young as you tell me this Eloise person is is just asking for a mare’s nest.”