She had a dour doughy face. She dredged countless bodies up in her memories. Daily humiliations relived. Ruminations leading in on themselves, self-reflexive, like an never ending line of diminishing versions of herself in a funhouse mirror. She lived a succession of glary days with an overwhelming flatness to them—sour clouds pinned to the sky. So many wrong turns without indications of success. It was time she quit it.
“Nobody with a good car needs to be justified.”
— Flannery O’Connor / Wise Blood