Nothing like ending the day with an awesome E.L. Doctorow yarn. I don't even know if I like this story yet, but I had to stop and post because this bit of dialog stopped me cold:
When people speak of a haunted house, they mean ghosts flitting about in it, but that's not it at all. When a house is haunted--what I'm trying to explain--it is the feeling you get that it looks like you, that your soul has become architecture, and the house in all its materials has taken you over with a power akin to haunting. As if you, in fact, are the ghost. And as I look at you, a kind, lovely young woman, part of me says not that I don't belong here, which is the truth, but that you don't belong here.
More on the story once I finish, but what a drum. What an awesome drum.