"Clay has strong opinions about everything. Americans: materialistic, all they care about is money. Colombians: dangerous. Artists: insane. Poets: not interested. Gays: unnatural. Death: no such thing.

He sits beside me in the jardin in Mexico because it’s sunny here. He is searching for light, to banish demons, doesn’t even want to say the name devil because that conjures it up, makes it too real. His body is large, American midwestern, substantial. His hands fold and unfold in his lap. I am visiting in this town alone, newlyunwed. I study Clay’s muscular forearms, attracted, shocked by every word that comes out of his mouth."