A Confederacy of Dunces (1980)
by John Kennedy Toole
"How old is he?" the policeman asked Mrs. Reilly. ⏎ "I am thirty," Ignatius said condescendingly. ⏎ "You got a job?" ⏎ "Ignatius hasta help me at home," Mrs. Reilly said. Her initial courage was failing a little, and she began to twist the lute string with the cord on the cake boxes. "I got terrible arthuritis." ⏎ "I dust a bit," Ignatius told the policeman. "In addition, I am at the moment writing a lengthy indictment against our century. When my brain begins to reel from my literary labors, I make an occasional cheese dip."🏁
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"How old is he?" the policeman asked Mrs. Reilly. ⏎ "I am thirty," Ignatius said condescendingly. ⏎ "You got a job?" ⏎ "Ignatius hasta help me at home," Mrs. Reilly said. Her initial courage was failing a little, and she began to twist the lute string with the cord on the cake boxes. "I got terrible arthuritis." ⏎ "I dust a bit," Ignatius told the policeman. "In addition, I am at the moment writing a lengthy indictment against our century. When my brain begins to reel from my literary labors, I make an occasional cheese dip."🏁