"Everyone's too damn stupid for you, aren't they?"

"Right."

"You're nice."

"I am."

"Aren't you ever going to do anything?"

"Yes."

"But nothing that has anything to do with the world?"

"If it wants it it can have it. It might not be good for it."

"I want it."

"Maybe you should get in the bath tub." She turned to leave.

"Let's take the enchiladas," he said.

"Next we'll be taking your books and someone for you to talk to."

They made love in the bath tub.

Monday he want to work. He changed tires. His hands were long and thin boned and they were growing beautiful with the manual work. He envisioned them grasping the quick marble thighs of girls passing down the street. That's where I live, he thought. I live in visions. Each time he actually confronted a new girl he tangled with her mind and initiate no communion with her body. He preferred to explain concepts of the totality and resurrective powers of love, but there was a hole in the middle of his talk. The whole consisted of their talking bodies. He shook his head in disappointment at himself. I live in visions, he repeated to himself. But it is laborious and equally risky living elsewhere.

* * * * * *