Sex seemed like a thing that might only happen to me at random, outside my control, like the weather.

There are some things that only other people can do to you.

. . . overcast afternoons when it seemed possible the whole world had run out of things to say.

And how sad it is that the last face someone makes at you is always the face you remember the most.

I'd run out of options. That's how these things usually happen, how a person ends up placing all her last hopes on a stranger, hoping that whatever that stranger might do to her would be the thing she needed done to her.

I sometimes wondered why I even answered the phone, but I guess I always had the hope that it would be someone else, some other way of life calling for me.