Juliet, Naked

I haven't read Nick Hornby in a long time. I'm glad I picked up one of his books two weeks back.

He had never once felt itchy, in the way that two connecting pieces of a jigsaw never felt itchy, as far as one could tell. If one were to imagine, for the sake of argument, that jigsaw pieces had thoughts and feelings, then it was possible to imagine them saying to themselves, I'm going to stay here. Where else would I go?. And if another jigsaw pieces came along, offering its tabs and blanks enticingly in an attempt to lure one of the pieces away, it would be easy to resist temptation. Look, the object of the seducer's admiration would say You're a bit of a telephone box, and I'm the face of Mary, Queen of Scots. We just won't look right together. And that would be that.