Alex turned to the concierge. “How come I’m asking these questions instead of you?” he said. “Someone just got robbed in your hotel. Don’t you have, like, security?” The words “robbed” and “security” managed to pierce the soothing backbeat that pumped through not just the Lassimo but every hotel like it in New York City. There was a mild ripple of interest from the lobby. “I’ve called security,” the concierge said, adjusting his neck. “I’ll call them again.” Sasha glanced at Alex. He was angry, and the anger made him recognizable in a way that an hour of aimless chatter (mostly hers, it was true) had not: he was new to New York. He came from someplace smaller. He had a thing or two to prove about how people should treat one another.
—
There are much better passages to be found in A Visit From the Goon Squad (and much worse!) but that last sentence just killed me in the best way possible. Nail on head.
There’s no use being uppity in this city.
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