Some kind of machine

I turned to Jocelyn, but she's gone. Maybe my thousand eyes are what tell me to look down. I see Lou's finger spread out over her black hair. She's kneeling in front of him giving him head, like the music is a disguise and no one can see them. Maybe no one does. Lou's other arm is around me, which I guess is why I don't run, although I could, that's the thing. But I stand there while Lou mashes Jocelyn's head against himself again and again so I don't know how she can breathe, until it starts to seem like she's not even Jocelyn, but some kind of animal o machine that can't be broken. I force myself to look at the band, Scotty snapping the wet shirt at people's eyes and knocking them with his boot, Lou grasping my shoulder, squeezing it harder, turning his head to my neck and letting out a hot, stuttering groan I can hear even through the music. He's that close. A sob cracks open in me. Tear leak out from my eyes, but only the two in my face. The other thousand eyes are closed.

Jennifer Egan, A Visit from the Goon Squad, 2o1o