Yellow guys do not just happen. Yellow guys are not in my life. Yellow guys do not just emerge out of thin air. Yellow guys are in the movies. Yellow guys are not real. Yellow guys are for Chernobyl, not Clarence. Why don't I have a yellow suit? I do not have a yellow suit. I quite clearly need a yellow suit.
This is a paragraph from very early on in Anne Ursu's first novel, Spilling Clarence. I want to quote pages and pages of it, but I love this paragraph the most. I love the repetition (as I do). I love how that repetition builds a sort of quasi-calm terror.
Excuse me, I must continue reading.
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