"Later that night with Rosalie asleep from despair, he presumed, he went back into the tiny kitchen more windowless than ever and plastered his ear to the wall. No distinct sound, only a cosmic visceral humming, greater, far greater than the ploy of mere neighbors, as if the world were bees and nothing but. Overhead there was a brief, almost apologetic, scraping of what sounded like chair against tiled floor. He shrugged this away as beneath the contempt of his vigilance. Beyond this scraping there was no message, as from a beyond, on how to go about proving the yet-to-be fabled potency of his vocation was more than a hyposecretion of sebaceous glands. Of course the scraping of chair could mean: You have to think of more than yourself, there’s Rosalie and the child in her belly. But the scraping could also mean: Don’t bother demeaning yourself through exertion."
-Michael Brodsky, XMAN, pg 131
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