I knew I'd get to this part

Of course I did. I'm editing the entire damn manuscript. This is part of it.

           Brent has a 1960s-era American car, a classic model that I’ll wager is a Corvair. It has wings and chrome and inside is a giant fucking mess. As we slide inside – him opening the door for me first, then slamming it shut and trotting over to the driver’s-side door – I picture the place where he lives. It’s a loft, I’ll bet, one of those empty industrial spaces. Take the H-bomb and drop it, just chuck it down repeatedly. It can only help matters.