“There is a beautiful consistency about Buzzard; he is a porcupine among men, with his quills always flared. If he won a new car with a raffle ticket bought in his name by some momentary girlfriend, he would recognize it at once as a trick to con him out of a license fee. He would denounce the girl as a hired slut, beat up the raffle sponsor, and trade off the car for five hundred Seconals and a gold-handled cattle prod.”

“Wait!" he yelled.I didn't turn around, I walked faster. Then I heard him slam his fist on the hood of his car. I almost stopped.Maybe I would have if he'd followed me. But he didn't. He got in his car and he left, just like he said he would.”

“The next morning he drove the stranger’s car half way to the Registry of Motor Vehicles before he realized he could not apply for a driver’s license. He suddenly realized he had left his name at the prison.”

“Max didn't take his hands off her. As they walked to where he'd parked the hired car, he kept his arm round her shoulders, even though he was carrying her cases in his other hand and they kept bumping him.”

“If he mistreated and abused his last girlfriend, why would you want to be his new girlfriend?”

“He was delighted to recognize his own human name on two of the papers; he always got an odd thrill out of reading it, as if he were two places at once.”