Every once in a while you read a sentence and you’re like, “Damn, that is a great friggin’ sentence!” Like a perfect riff by Clapton or a pitch-perfect Jack Nicholson line reading, sometimes a writer just nails it. I read this sentence and for some reason I was like, “Dude! Fuckin’-A! That is one bad-ass sentence. I wish I could write like that!” and I’ll bet he doesn’t even have to re-write, I’ll bet that shit just flows. Damn. Check this out:

“The Tibetan prayer flags suspended on a string over the sleeping body of Captain Blue rose and fell in fluttering counterpoint to the wheezy rhythm of his breath.”

Isn’t that beautiful? its got rhythm, symmetry, it is vivid and evocative, descriptive and intriguing. It is like a perfect little snapshot, a tiny novel.  Wow.

It is the first sentence of the story Dr. Kush, by David Samuels, in The New Yorker. That’s why he’s in in the New Yorker and I’m writing a blog, I reckon.