Where Are You Going, Where Have You Been?
Connie sat with her eyes closed in the sun, dreaming and dazed with the warmth about her as if this were a kind of love, the caresses of love, and her mind slipped over onto thoughts of the boy she had been with the night before and how nice he had been, how sweet it always was, not the way someone like June would suppose, but sweet, gentle, the way it was in movies and promised in songs; and when she opened her eyes she hardly knew where she was. [...] She shook her head as if to get awake. (12)
It was a car [Connie] didn't know. It was an open jalopy, painted a bright gold that caught the sunlight opaquely. Her heart began to pound and her fingers snatched at her hair, checking it, and she whispered, "Christ, Christ," wondering how bad she looked. (15)
Connie liked the way he was dressed, which was the way all of them dressed. [...] And his face was a familiar face, somehow [...] the nose long and hawklike, sniffing as if she were a treat he was going to gobble up and it was all a joke. (46)