A review by legsbian
Death Kit by Susan Sontag

Did not finish book. Stopped at 3%.

"Diddy bored (now). He's finished the newspaper. Hungry, which always happens on trains. Restless. A conductor comes to collect everyone's ticket. Whose tickets? Our tickets. In an express train which is rapidly passing many stations without stopping, each station identical with the last, Diddy is cooped up among interchangeable people. But being fellow traveler of life, incorrigibly hopeful though sharply disillusioned, he will make the effort to tell one from the other. He casts a moderate, diffused look at the others in the compartment: to stare wouldn't be polite."

I literally can't make this shit up. I couldn't even get to the part where Diddy becomes convinced that he killed someone. Sorry Sontag!