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This is a personal project by @dellsystem. I built this to help me retain information from the books I'm reading.

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430

HORRORS: Heat

by Joyce Carol Oates

(missing author)

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? (2004). Heat. In Paris Review, T. The Paris Review Book: of Heartbreak, Madness, Sex, Love, Betrayal, Outsiders, Intoxication, War, Whimsy, Horrors, God, Death, Dinner, Baseball, Travels, ... Else in the World Since 1953. Picador, pp. 430-439

438

After I’d been married some years I got involved with this man, I won’t say his name, his name is not a name I say, but we would meet back there sometimes, back in that old lot that’s all weeds and scrub trees. Wild as kids and on the edge of being drunk. I was crazy for this guy, I mean crazy like I could hardly think of anybody but him or anything but the two of us making love the way we did, with him deep inside me I wanted it never to stop just fuck and fuck and fuck I’d whisper to him and this went on for a long time, two or three years then ended the way these things do and looking back on it I’m not able to recognize that woman as if she was someone not even not-me but a crazy woman I would despise, making so much of such a thing, risking her marriage and her kids finding out and her life being ruined for such a thing, my God. The things people do.

It’s like living out a story that has to go its own way.

—p.438 missing author 1 month, 2 weeks ago

After I’d been married some years I got involved with this man, I won’t say his name, his name is not a name I say, but we would meet back there sometimes, back in that old lot that’s all weeds and scrub trees. Wild as kids and on the edge of being drunk. I was crazy for this guy, I mean crazy like I could hardly think of anybody but him or anything but the two of us making love the way we did, with him deep inside me I wanted it never to stop just fuck and fuck and fuck I’d whisper to him and this went on for a long time, two or three years then ended the way these things do and looking back on it I’m not able to recognize that woman as if she was someone not even not-me but a crazy woman I would despise, making so much of such a thing, risking her marriage and her kids finding out and her life being ruined for such a thing, my God. The things people do.

It’s like living out a story that has to go its own way.

—p.438 missing author 1 month, 2 weeks ago