flâneur

“Constellation,” by Andrea Bajani | The New Yorker

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There was something absurd and distressing in that prelude to the domestic drama.

Save this story Save this story When I think of the free time my mother spent with my father, in our small town outside Turin, this is the scene I usually picture: she’s on the couch, working through La Settimana Enigmistica , a weekly word-puzzle magazine, while he reads a book. She looks bored; her glasses have slipped down the bridge of her nose, where they remain out of carelessness rather than to help her eyes focus. She’s waiting for him to finish reading and decide what to do with whatever time remains before dinner. Did she find crossword puzzles interesting? Fun? I suspect they were m

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