In Laura Adamczyk’s novel Island City, we meet a nameless wry and wistful woman who has basically given up. She sells all her belongings and moves back to her hometown which she claims it’s the “perfect place to give up.” She parks herself in a dark local bar and begins to tell her stories to the indifferent regulars around the bar. We only hear her voice, never any of the strangers, or bartender, only her point of view. It’s basically a booze-soaked monologue as stories and memories blur from one to the other with forgotten missing holes as she continues on to drink three, four, and so on.