If this were a dream, I'd stab anyone who wakes me, were the words that lined up by the tip of his tongue but he kept them at bay and let his smile make his response instead. Gen could only be too familiar with dreams (although very rarely had he had a good one) and this, he was almost certain, was not.
"Whoever built this city has the creativity of a fish," Eugenides noted as he ate his cobbler again, practically polishing it off before he tossed the fork onto the plate, took his glass of milk and sipped from it. "How long did it take you to find out about these facts?"