“No reason. The dance itself was anticlimactic, with teenagers trying their best to look the part of adult sophisticates on the dance floor. Then suddenly with a rush came reality, came “growing up”; a hasty imperative appeal for seriousness, for supreme seriousness. “Please call me Carol. Your career at the bar had given you a command of language, also a self-control not vouchsafed to us ordinary mortals. See? Nothing really. E below. ” It was a long, meandering talk, stupid, shameful, and unavoidable. You’re a piss-poor liar, John.
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