I turned away from him and went on my way, up the street and about my business. The past was dead. The future was resignation, fatality, and could only end one way now. The present was numbness, that could feel nothing. Like Novocaine needled into your heart. What was there in all the dimensions of time for me ?
excerpt from
Life is Weird Sometimes
(first chapter of unpublished novel "The Loser")
Cornell Woolrich
https://crimereads.com/the-noir-poetry-and-doomed-romanticism-of-cornell-woolrich/
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