This is The Writer's Voice, new fiction from The New Yorker.

I'm Deborah Treasman, fiction editor at The New Yorker.

On this episode of The Writer's Voice, we'll hear David Means read his story,

Two Ruminations on a Homeless Brother, from the May 1st, 2017 issue of the magazine.

Means is the author of four-story collections, including The Secret Goldfish and the Spot,

and the novel Histopia, which was published last year.

Now here's David Means.

Two Ruminations on a homeless brother.

Settoslav Richter

There's this old man who walks along the fence next to the hospital,

or, say, down near town, wobbling on his loose, flapping shoes, digging around in the garbage

can on the corner, smoking a cigarette, clutching it between his battered fingers, or simply

walking with his shoulders braced as if he knew he was some kind of fodder for speculation,

because it seemed to be so consistent his homeless rooting,

keeping to a pattern. Moving south on Midland Avenue for half a mile to Franklin Place,

and then left on Franklin and down Franklin to River Road, along River Road, to Front Street,

left on front and up front back to Midland,

and then, presumably, around again.

By virtue of his consistency, he has edged his way into the consciousness of just about

everybody who has driven more than once down Midland Avenue or Front Street, or, to a

lesser degree, Franklin Place. Rainer Shine for about a year and a half, give or take. He has

slogged with the same gimp, the same loping swing of arms, the same cigarette burning between

...