“Tallie looked for something to throw, but considering the fact that she threw like a girl, she dumped that plan in lieu of grabbing her new iron and swinging it like a bowling ball between the bad man's legs, where it connected with a nauseating _thunk_.”

“He could feel her doing that list thing, where she didn’t speak or look at you because she was tallying something in her head. Figuring out how bad you’d messed up.”

“They did look tough - and tall. One girl in particular had legs like stilts. She was bent down, touching her toes with her ankles crossed. She looked like a grazing giraffe.”

“She doesn't know any better, what a girl like her needs is a man with both his legs on the land. A man who will hold her down so that she doesn't fly away. She doesn't know yet that someone like you looks better on the shelf than in your hand.”

“You've been looking like this for months." Leo does something strange with his face."I don't look like that.""Yeah. You do.""I'll look like that if Daisy dumps me, and she'll dump me if she thinks I lied," Dylan says."You threw eggs at her head. Odds are she's dumping you anyway." I turn to Leo. "We decided. We said that we weren't telling anyone. We said it was art for art's sake. We said the more people knew, the more chance the cop's pick us up. We said it was you and me, no crew.""Are you sure I didn't say it was to score girls?”

“Germaine, on the other hand, was a whore from the cradle; she was thoroughly satisfied with her role, enjoyed it in fact, except when her stomach pinched or her shoes gave out, little surface things of no account, nothing that ate into her soul, nothing that created torment. Ennui! That was the worst she ever felt. Days there were, no doubt, when she had a bellyful, as we say – but no more than that! Most of the time she enjoyed it – or gave the illusion of enjoying it. It made a difference, of course, whom she went with – or came with. But the principal thing was a man. A man! That was what she craved. A man with something between his legs that could tickle her, that could make her writhe in ecstasy, make her grab that bushy twat of hers with both hands and rub it joyfully, boastfully, proudly, with a sense of connection, a sense of life. That was the only place where she experienced any life – down there where she clutched herself with both hands.”