They were the head-strong horses, who hurried Octavius […] along, and were deaf to his reclaiming them.

Dreams tend to turn real in flint shadows and squint sunshine at morning when the promising young men appear slack jawed and drunk with unsleep and boredom: the young girls - how often young - are type tip tapping at bright lighted desks escaping, waking, some other kind of whoredom.

And now he's made The Number 23, a cheapie $30 million horror film about a man consumed with numerology.

Where our apt used to be they built a fancy condominium high-rise. Which at a lowly income none of us could ever really quite afford.