"The Violent Jolt of the City."

That is how Virginia Woolf described it. I jotted this down in my car earlier this evening: " In the car to my left sits an old man, talking to himself and intermittently chewing on his hand. In the car at my right, a man blowing me kisses. Great. On the Northwest corner of the intersection a man and a women, faces to the ground, being hand cuffed in the parking lot. A homeless man on the median with a sign simply saying, 'God Bless.' All being played out to the gentle sounds of a jackhammer tearing up the turning lane. The same jackhammer that's been tearing up the turning lane for the last 2 weeks. All under the bright lights. The most startling thing about this whole moment is the fact that it all seems strangely comfortable and normal to me. Can one become comfortable in hell?"

That is my "Violent Jolt", Mrs. Woolf.