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When the sun goes down, another self takes begins to take over. This one will refuse to resist. This one doesn't wear underwear when going out for a pizza. This one imagines he'll invite his neighbor over for a casual bj in the basement, at the bar, over whiskey. His helpless crotch responds.

Unfortunately, the very idea of doing it in house with his wife and his child fills him with inert panic. This is what he hates about being gay: there is nowhere to run.

Stretching under a clean sky, I can hear the grass grow. Mother Earth is in a perpetual birth cry and emits a sound like static, perhaps. Really. It's there. You have to tune it in, it's between the rustle of the wind and the cicadas. You can also grasp it with your feet. This lot of grass, behind the elementary school, is quite unlike your other suburban patches. It has many voices: there's the vicious dead thatch, the ticklish clover, weeds in a whole continuum of shapes and sizes along with your standard Kentucky blue. Julia half-senses this as she walks barefoot, recalling the late-night Otis Redding tape she bought at Le Drugstore. She thinks a lot about Paris: why is the flâneur so lonely?

He said that we've become so familiar with cars that we forgot what they are: autonomy machines, fantastic extensions of the body.

She said that she thinks of cars as being killing machines: the things that run over small birds, or children as they cross the street.

He has a brand new car, a Jaguar, though I don't know much about those things. Another automobile to add to the collection. We are all comfortable here, some more, some less, but the Jag sticks out in this community like a pecker in a cheap suit. But he's got at least one car per family member, maybe more. A van, a caddy, a smaller car, and a Jag. The driveway isn't big enough. It's a clutter of chrome. You think to yourself: does he need that? Then you think: need has nothing to do with it. You can't take it to the supermarket. You could, sure, but it's like going to McDonald's in your tux. But it's not for the supermarket. I'm not even sure it's for us. It seems to exist to impress the people who made Jerry's money possible - whoever they are. There's an 8-track, too.