Anne Enright Reads "Solstice"
The New Yorker: The Writer's Voice - New Fiction from The New Yorker - Un pódcast de WNYC Studios and The New Yorker - Domingos
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This was the part of the journey that he loved best: the street lamps gave way to the idea of countryside, and there was a song on the radio as the road opened up ahead. The music made him feel like he could keep driving forever. It was a love song, or a sad song. It reminded him of a time in his life, some town he was in, he could not say where.
