Sunday Sentence: Woodsburner by John Pipkin

Simply put, the best sentence(s) I’ve read this past week, presented out of context and without commentary.

At every square and intersection in Boston, she heard shouts from vendors hawking oysters and fresh fish and hot corn and raspberries and milk and sweet doughnuts fried in pig fat. Everywhere the air smelled of cooking, as if America were one vast kitchen, and it seemed she need only breathe to fill herself with food.

Woodsburner by John Pipkin