She came up out of the ground even more beautiful than when she had gone down into it. Her face was as white as snow, and her hair as black as ink, and her lips as red as the blood on her gravestone.
Ballard has been both celebrated and attacked as a sex-obsessed, amoral nihilist . . . but devotees and detractors alike often miss the meaning behind Ballard's metaphors.
The problem was that in this case, the story about the girl who was sitting in front of us led naturally into the story about the A's fans who started smacking around Red Sox fans after the Sox won that last game in the division series, and that led into the story about Johnny Damon's terrifying concussion-causing collision in the outfield. . . .
In a little workshop / downtown, in a room / without windows, a man / sits at a workbench, making / monsters.