在信仰社区教堂的马路对面，几十个老人来这里住在拖车里，死在阳光下，祈祷。我听不到他们，也不想听。我能听到的是偶尔的土狼和隔壁的蛇室中的点唱机的“雨必须掉下来”的持续合唱，如果我也听到那些垂死的声音，那是那些在这个月球国家吸引的声音，这些声音吸引了这个难以想象的难以想象的无情的rites rites，我认为我会失去我的理由，我想失去我的理由。
(Across the road at the Faith Community Church a couple of dozen old people, come here to live in trailers and die in the sun, are holding a prayer sing. I cannot hear them and do not want to. What I can hear are occasional coyotes and a constant chorus of "Baby the Rain Must Fall" from the jukebox in the Snake Room next door, and if I were also to hear those dying voices, those Midwestern voices drawn to this lunar country for some unimaginable atavistic rites, rock of ages cleft for me, I think I would lose my own reason.)