He's such a greedy dork. That frizzy-haired liberal is staring at me again , thinks Rollo. She wants me. But that would be a big mistake. Clarice gets out of the bus and walks down the street.
Smog hangs heavy in the air.
Puddles of stinking sewage glimmer blue-gray in the gutter. A finger taps insistently at her shoulder blade. Okay, three for five dollars. The next morning, freshly showered, Clarice thinks, We never talk to each other in this group. We're all a bunch of slugs .