The Pynchon Window

Experiencing the past, present, and future at the same time.

“The Pynchon Window,” Clara muttered. Looking past the plate glass and into the once-bustling streets, now vacant the faces, footfalls, and soft sweat of the day.

“What was that dear?” Replied her husband, sorting his cards.

‘What was always so important about those cards?’ She wondered briefly, turning back out to the last passage of dusk.

“Just something a friend told me. ‘Once you go out looking for one thing, and you’re late to realize it already passed you by.’ And the whole point of it is... there you were, just being there the whole time. With that window.”

“Peabody’s?”

“Pynchon’s. I liked the name, like some old world steakhouse of nondescript national origin”