In the Flesh!

I carry trash down the hallway of my Four Seasons Residence.

Ahead of me – a guy. Young. Broad-shouldered.

I open the conversation.

Obviously, you also live on this floor.

He smiles and responds:

I live across from you.

Oops! I introduce myself and ask what his name is.

He is amused and tells me his name. He sees that I do not recognize him and that I cannot understand his accent. He spells it out and informs me he is from Russia.

We walk back together. He does indeed live across from me.

I then Google him:

Kirill Olegovich Kaprizov (Russian: Кирилл Олегович Капризов; born 26 April 1997) is a Russian professional ice hockey left winger and alternate captain for the Minnesota Wild of the National Hockey League (NHL). In September 2025, Kaprizov reportedly signed an eight-year $136 million deal with the Minnesota Wild, the richest contract in NHL history, after he initially turned down a $128 million dollar deal by the Wild. Fans have nicknamed him  “Kirill the Thrill”.

Later in the day, I go down to the gym. It is empty, except for a trainer and:

Thomas Edward Patrick Brady Jr. (born August 3, 1977) is an American former professional football quarterback who played in the National Football League (NFL) for 23 seasons. He became the starting quarterback during his second season, which saw the Patriots win their first Super Bowl title in Super Bowl XXXVI. As the team’s primary starter for 18 seasons, Brady led the Patriots to 17 division titles (including 11 consecutive from 2009 to 2019), 13 AFC Championship Games (including eight consecutive from 2011 to 2018), nine Super Bowl appearances, and six Super Bowl titles, all NFL records for a player and franchise. He joined the Buccaneers in 2020 and won Super Bowl LV, extending his individual records to ten Super Bowl appearances and seven victories. In 2024, Brady became the lead color commentator for the NFL on Fox. Brady is widely regarded as the greatest quarterback of all time.

He notices that I recognize him. The trainer takes our picture.

Back in the apartment, I finish reading David Szalay‘s 2025 Booker Prize winning novel, Flesh. I mostly agree with this reviewer:

The novel, which follows a tight-lipped, withdrawn Hungarian man named István from childhood through adulthood, moves less like a riptide and more like a European night train: readers wake up at the beginning of each chapter to find István older, in a new place, and further destabilized by recent off-screen events.

The verby, staccato prose holds the reader captive and propels them from scene to scene, conversation to conversation, in István’s body. The single-line paragraphs help: “She shoots another slug of soda into the glass.” Each chapter opens en media res, leaving readers with little time to find their seats before liftoff.

But reading Flesh is an entirely different (and better) experience. István’s mind is not a pre-formed knot—and therefore readers don’t have to spend the novel untangling it. Put simply: I don’t really understand István. And neither does István.

No, this post has nothing to with Pink Floyd.