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| Rules and Suggestions for Enjoyment of This Book | |
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| Preface to This Edition | |
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| Acknowledgments | |
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| Incomplete Guide to Symbols and Metaphors | |
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| Through the small tall bathroom window, etc. | |
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| Scatology | |
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| Video games | |
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| Blood | |
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| "Blind leaders of the blind" [Bible] | |
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| Some violence | |
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| Embarrassment, naked men | |
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| Mapping | |
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| Please look. Can You see us, etc. | |
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| California | |
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| Ocean plunging, frothing | |
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| Little League, black mothers | |
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| Rotation and substitution | |
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| Hills, views, roofs, toothpicks | |
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| Numbing and sensation | |
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| Johnny Bench | |
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| Motion | |
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| The enemies list, etc. | |
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| Demotion | |
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| Teachers driven before us | |
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| Menu | |
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| Plane crash | |
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| Light | |
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| Knife | |
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| State of the Family Room Address | |
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| Half-cantaloupes | |
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| So like a fragile girl | |
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| Old model, new model | |
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| Bob Fosse Presents | |
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| Oh I could be going out, sure | |
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| But no. No no! | |
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| The weight | |
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| Seven years one's senior, how fitting | |
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| John Doe | |
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| Decay v. preservation | |
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| Burgundy, bolts | |
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| Outside it's blue-black and getting darker, etc. | |
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| Stephen, murderer, surely | |
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| The Bridge | |
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| Jon and Pontius Pilate | |
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| John, Moodie, et al. | |
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| Lies | |
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| A stolen wallet | |
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| The 99th percentile | |
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| Mexican kids | |
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| Lineups, lights | |
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| A trail of blood, and then silence | |
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| When we hear the news at First | |
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| [Some mild nudity] | |
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| All the hope of history to date | |
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| An interview | |
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| Death and suicide | |
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| Mistakes | |
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| Keg beer | |
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| Mr. T | |
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| Steve the Black Guy | |
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| A death faked, perhaps (the gray car) | |
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| A possible escape, via rope, of sheets | |
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| A broken door | |
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| Betrayal justified | |
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| Fuck it. Stupid show, etc. | |
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| Some bitterness, some calculation | |
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| Or anything that looks un-us | |
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| More nudity, still mild | |
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| Of color, who is of color? | |
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| Chakka the Pakuni | |
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| Hairy all the crotches are, bursting from panties and briefs | |
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| The Marina | |
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| The flying-object maneuver | |
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| Drama or blood or his mouth foaming or | |
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| A hundred cymbals | |
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| Would you serve them grapes? Would that be wrong? | |
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| "So I'm not allowed" | |
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| Details of all this will be good | |
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| We can't do anything about the excrement | |
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| The Future | |
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| "Slacker? Not me," laughs Hillman | |
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| Meath: Oh yeah, we love that multicultural stuff | |
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| Fill out forms | |
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| "a nightmare WASP utopia" | |
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| A sexual sort of lushness | |
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| There has been Spin the Bottle | |
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| "I don't know" | |
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| "Thank you, Jesus" | |
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| "I'm dying, Shal" | |
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| Robert Urich says no. We were so close | |
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| Laura Branigan, Lori Singer, Ed Begley, Jr. | |
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| To be thought of as smart, legitimate, permanent. So you do your little thing | |
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| A bitchy little thing about her | |
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| A fall | |
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| The halls, shabbily shiny, are filled with people in small clumps | |
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| That Polly Klaas guy giving me the finger at the trial | |
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| Adam, by association, unimpressive | |
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| Of course it's cold | |
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| The cold when walking off the plane | |
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| Plans for a kind of personal archaeological orgy or something, from funeral homes to John Hussa, whose mom heated milk once, after Grizzly | |
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| Weddings | |
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| A lesbian agnostic named Minister Lovejoy | |
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| Chad and the copies | |
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| Leaf pile | |
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| Another threat | |
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| Of course she knows | |
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| Wouldn't everyone be able to tell? | |
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| The water rising, as if under it already | |
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| Black Sands Beach is | |
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| No hands | |
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| Down the hill, the walk | |
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| Not NAMBLA | |
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| Birthday, parquet | |
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| Skye | |
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| Hot, poisoned blood | |
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| Jail, bail, the oracle | |
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| More maneuvers | |
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| A fight | |
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| Finally, finally | |