The Extra Man: A Novel (Contemporary Classics (Washington Square Press))

“I would like to have a bed that ejects you. First it starts vibrating violently as a warning. You have a minute to get out and then it ejects you.”

I envied those two. They kissed. I wanted to be both of them. I wanted to be strong enough to hold someone, or lovely enough to be held.

Like once when I was thirteen, I had carved a girl’s initials into a tree to pretend that I had a girlfriend, and then years later when I saw the initials, I smiled happily because I momentarily believed my own falsehood.

Americans and their guns. They can’t outwit anyone so they shoot them.”

I had this bad habit of admitting to everybody that I was balding. In part I was looking for them to deny it and reassure me, and also I confessed it because I thought that they couldn’t secretly mock me for losing my hair if I so openly acknowledged it.

“No. Doctors can’t do anything for sciatica. I need endless pleasure and no responsibilities, so there’s no hope.

It’s depressing to live in a mess, but to clean it up is more depressing.”