Moore grunted. A gust of wind lashed a fiery rain of loose tobacco upon his cheek. He smoked on, hands in the pockets of his jacket, collar raised. The poet clapped him on the shoulder.
"Come with me into the town," he suggested. "It's only over the hill. We can walk it."
"No," said Moore, through his teeth.
They strode on, and as they neared the garage Unger grew uneasy.
"I'd rather someone were with me tonight," he said abruptly. "I feel strange, as though I'd drunk the draught of the centuries and suddenly am wise in a time when wisdom is unnecessary. I -- I'm afraid."
The Context: Alvin Moore and Wayne Unger are rival members of the Set, a group of elite super-celebrities who spend most of their time in suspended animation, awakening only to participate in lavish parties. They're walking around after such a party has ended, and they don't recognize the world in which they find themselves.
Why I like it: The word that springs to mind is elegiac, relating to an elegy, having a theme of solitude and mourning. Moore and Unger are strangers in the world, which moved on while they slept, and this short passage conveys the alienation and strange solitude of their situation.