Bang bang

"Suddenly my heart again goes bangety-bang, bangety-bangety-bang, as if I myself were about to exit life in a hurry. And if I could, I would spring up, switch on the light, dial someone and shout right down into the hard little receiver, 'It's okay. I got away. It was goddamned close, I'll tell ya. It didn't get me, though. I smelled its breath, saw its red eyes in the dark, shining. A clammy hand touched mine. But I made it. I survived. Wait for me. Wait for me. Not that much is left to do.' Only there's no one. No one here or anywhere near to say any of this to. And I'm sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry."—Richard Ford, Independence Day, 1995. (You'd better buy it in that sweet $22 Amazon deal with its precursor, The Sportswriter, thrown in. $22 worth of enjoyment can be had in any random 22 pages of either book.)