“Jesus," Dante interjected when the heavy quiet in the vehicle seemed endless. "All this touchy feely is making me itchy to kill something. How about we quit jerking each other off and go blow the roof off this mutha?”

“The salt blowing off the sea makes the air feel textured and heavy.”

“But then again, I was about as far from touchy-feely as you could get. Unless you’re fucking me, don’t put your hands on me.”

“And if I wanted to kill myself, I wouldn't throw myself off a roof. And if I was going to throw myself off a roof, I would put on some pants before I did it.”

“There's something about yoga that makes it a spiritual experience, I'm realizing. It's opening me beyond myself. A good class seems like a dose of LSD--without the worry you'll find yourself jumping off a roof into a swimming pool.”

“How are you going to react when we 're this close and you take off my shirt? Are you still going to want me when you see red and white lines? Are you going to flinch each time you accidentally touch my arms and feel the raised skin? How about when i touch you?""Or will you forbid that? Will you tell me how to dress or what i'm allowed to take off?”