The novel opens with the thoughts of our main character, one isolated American man. Sitting here, not so bad, the last white man in Flushing, not so bad. Being here, in this apartment, not so bad. Noise, yes, but can live with that, I think. Not so bad. But, probably, cause I keep saying, not so bad, you really think it is, bad that is. Maybe I should say something like it's tolerable. That's right, tolerable in Flushing, the last white male living, a foreigner in my own neighborhood, isolated from all. Flushing tolerable, historical, established in the seventeenth century by the Dutch Never know it if you looked at Flushing today with its Asian Pagodas and signs in Korean and Chinese - fascinating place, especially for me, a writer. Asians today, Dutch yesterday. Who tomorrow? Reminds me, Asians. Mysterious. Keep to themselves, quiet and shrewd. Can't relate. Why bother? At fifty, it's no big deal anymore. Closer to the grave than to life Just leave me alone. Here we have it