“now look, she said, stretched out on the bed, I don’t want anything personal, let’s just do it, I don’t want to get involved, got it? she kicked off her high-heeled shoes… sure, he said, standing there, let’s just pretend that we’ve already done it, there’s nothing less involved than that, is there? what the hell do you mean? she asked. I mean, he said, I’d rather drink anyhow. and he poured himself one. it was a lousy night in Vegas and he walked to the window and looked out at the dumb lights. you a fag? she asked, you a god damned fag? no, he said. you don’t have to get shitty,...”

“He asked, "What makes a man a writer?" "Well," I said, "it's simple. You either get it down on paper, or jump off a bridge.”

“you son of a bitch, she said, I amtrying to build a meaningfulrelationship.you can't build it with a hammer,he said.”

“Someday,” I told Jan, “when they demonstrate that the world has four dimensions instead of just three, a man will be able to go for a walk and just disappear. No burial, no tears, no illusions, no heaven or hell. People will be sitting around and they’ll say, ‘What happened to George?’ And somebody will say, ‘Well, I don’t know. He said he was going out for a pack of cigarettes.”

“You should do that more often,” he said. “Laugh, I mean.”“I know.” But that sounded sad, and she didn’t want to be sad, so she added, “I don’t often get to torture grown men, though.”“Really?” he murmured. “I would think you do it all the time.”She looked at him.“When you walk into a room,” he said softly, “the air changes.”

“Let’s try it,” he said. “This is serious,” she said. “You could get hurt. Or die.” “But if we can touch, that means we can make out, right?” he asked. “Maybe.” “You want me to risk my life for maybe?” He grinned.”

“She set her hands neatly in her lap. “But you just said he liked you.” “No, I said he enjoys my company. That is, he enjoys hating me. Or pretending to hate me. I don’t know which. But I’m finding it difficult to completely dislike someone who gets pleasure from having me around. ...“So he likes being mean to you,” she said. “And you like that he likes being mean to you.” “And I like being mean to him, too, don’t forget.” “Of course not. Pleasure from meanness. There’s a name for it: sadomasochism.”