"I can try." then they were in the car, driving. some son of a bitch hit his throttle and tried to ram them as they made a left turn. "baby, why do people try to hit us with their cars?" "well, mama, it's because they are unhappy and unhappy people like to hurt things." "aren't there any happy people?" "there are many people who pretend that they are happy." "why?" "because they are ashamed and frightened and don't have the guts to admit it." "are you frightened?" "I only have the guts to admit it to you — I'm so god damned scared, mama, that I think I'm going to die any minute." "baby, do you want your bottle?" "yes, mama, but let's wait until we get home." they drove along, turned right on Normandie. it was harder for them to hit you when you were turning right."

~Charles Bukowski