Nachman had arrived in New York the previous evening, and was walking along Fifth Avenue when she came up behind him, calling, “Nachman, Nachman, is that you?” He looked back and saw a woman shining with a happiness for which he, apparently, was responsible. His mere existence had turned on her lights. Nachman kissed her on both cheeks, and then they stood chatting at the corner of Forty-second Street, the millions passing with the minutes. When Nachman parted from her, he was holding her business card and the key to her apartment in Chelsea, having promised to join her and her husband for dinner that evening.
Phillip Lopate, The Nation, The Improbable Moralist, here.
These early stories merge recognizable Gotham settings with Oedipal nightmare surrealism. A father bursts in on his daughter in bed with the naked Liebowitz, who scurries out onto the street without his clothes; there he is admonished by the elderly doorman for not being nice; he slips back to his girlfriend only to discover her father has had a massive heart attack and is in the hospital; she whispers, “Fuck me.” The characters seem helpless, dread-filled, driven by blind appetite and impulse.
Kate Mackenzie, Alphaville, Incumbants don’t like disruption shocker: CDS edition, here.
The exchanges turned to ISDA and Markit to obtain necessary licenses for data and index benchmarks, but, according to the preliminary findings of the Commission, the banks controlling these bodies instructed them to license only for “over-the-counter” (OTC) trading purposes and not for exchange trading. Several of the investment banks also sought to shut out exchanges in other ways, for example by coordinating the choice of their preferred clearing house.