you always go for the ones who don't really want you--she really wanted Adam Moorad, she had just been rejected coldly and subterraneanly by Julien--she was interested in thin ascetic strange intellectuals of San Francisco and Berkeley and not in big paranoiac bums of ships and railroads and novels and all that hatefulness which in myself is to myself so evident and so to others too--though and because ten years younger than I seeing none of my virtues which anyway had long been drowned under years of drugtaking and desiring to die, to give up, to give it all up and forget it all, to die in the dark star--it was I stuck out my hand, not she--ah time.