"But I suffer so well, and so often. A stranger sees me cry, and they see a river they’ve never swum in, river in a foreign country. They take off their trousers and they jump in the water. They take pictures with a water-proof camera, they dry themselves in the sun. They’re all dry and I’m still wet. Maybe my suffering is from another time, a time when suffering was sexy, when the afternoons, and the streets, were full of rain. Maybe my tears aren’t from this century. Maybe I inherited them from old well water."