Flaubert's Parrot by Juilian Barnes
Its has been a week of quiet introspection so far. The Icy weather in Philly has cast a spell on me. The roads are wet with speckles of ice dropping from high rise buildings , creating small little puddles that will quickly freeze again as temperatures drop in the night. As i look out of my window, I see couple of homeless people standing near the lamp post with tattered clothes , vacant eyes and shivering hands holding out a placard pleading for help. There is a resolute stoicism about their bearing. Pedestrians pass by , blissfully unmindful of their presence, caught up in their own world and hurrying towards a destination. Down the road, babbled voices emerge out of a pub that has glittering neon signs reflecting its jarring colors on the wet concrete outside. There is obviously a party going on there. The garrulous voices of inebriation is a testimony to it.. I started reading Julian Barnes "Flaubert s parrot" on Sunday in Atlanta airport; and in three straight days I f