The Pigeon Project
“The spell of the city almost always worked for him, and it was working right now as he stood unsteadily before the hotel entrance in the teeming Riva degli Schiavoni. Ahead of him, a jam-packed vaporetto had just arrived, bumping against the floating wooden landing and rocking it. The water bus was disgorging a stream of passengers—Venetians, German and French and American tourists. Moored on either side of the shaky landing were several motorboats for rent, and a motoscafo was taking on the la...st guests of the Danieli who were seeking the pleasures of the Hotel Excelsior beach on Lido island before the lunch hiatus.
While this was for Tim Jordan the beginning of a day, he knew that the day had awakened long hours ago. When he could, especially when he had been drinking the night before, he slept late, not joining the life of the city until noon and not getting to his desk until one o’clock. This was one of his noon days, because he had stayed up late the night before, drinking and brooding in solitude, sleeping hard and straight through, and he had not been able to get out of bed until less than an hour ago.MoreLess
While this was for Tim Jordan the beginning of a day, he knew that the day had awakened long hours ago. When he could, especially when he had been drinking the night before, he slept late, not joining the life of the city until noon and not getting to his desk until one o’clock. This was one of his noon days, because he had stayed up late the night before, drinking and brooding in solitude, sleeping hard and straight through, and he had not been able to get out of bed until less than an hour ago.MoreLess
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