So it goes.
“Billy left his room, went down the slow elevator, walked over to Times Square, looked in the window of a tawdry bookstore. In the window were hundreds if books about fucking and buggery and murder, and a street guide to New York City, and a model of the Statue of Liberty with a thermometer on it.
“The news of the day, meanwhile, was being written in a ribbon of lights on a building to Billy’s back. The window reflected the news. It was about power and sports and anger and death. So it goes.
“Billy went into the bookstore.” -from Slaughterhouse-Five
Slaughterhouse-Five is about a man named Billy who often falls through time windows, making him live all parts of his life out of chronological order. His time in the war. His time on Tralformadore. The time he wept at the sour tones of a barbershop quartet. The time Dresden was bombed into a crater. He switches from place to place, from time to time.
I fell in love with this novel earlier this year. It taught me to hate war.
