those huaraches--do you have to wear them, Camilla? Do you have to emphasize the fact that you always were and always will be a filthy little Greaser? - John Fante

Far down the street I saw the building where Vera lived. Hanging from the wall, like a man crucified, was the bed.

I drew my hands over her belly and legs, felt my own desire, searched foolishly for my passion, strained for it while she waited, rolled and tore my hair and begged for it, but there was none, there was none at all, only the retreat to Hackmuth's letter and thoughts that remained to be written, but no lust, only fear of her, and shame and humiliation.

Then she tried to show me how to hold the gun. I jerked it away from her, flung the barrel recklessly in all directions.