The Chestnut Man

Hess had long thought of death with indifference. Not because he hated life, but because existence was painful.

Hess takes another kick to the same side of his face, and this time he has to spit the blood out so he won’t choke. He promises himself he’ll stop with the sarcasm, but the information is useful.

it strikes him what an incredible amount of human suffering must be documented by the state, lying forgotten in archives, registers and servers up and down the country.

this is what Hell must be like: having to replay the same appalling scenes over and over again

You’d take note of Jessie Kvium among a hundred other women, feeling both attracted and intimidated as a man.

she assumed it was rare for anyone to give him his marching orders once he’d shown up with flowers and wine.

her death has been registered, and the legal dismantling of a human life has taken its course.

grief is love made homeless

He feels the weight of the man at his back, his hands frisking him, and for a brief moment he catches a glimpse of the man’s eye colour and thinks he must be insane.

She’s in her early thirties, wearing a black skirt and black stockings, and he finds the click of her high-heeled Louboutins nearly unbearable as he follows her through the Victoria’s Secret concession.