So what can a poor boy do? You come out of the hotel, the Vraimont. Over boiling Watts the downtown skyline carries a smear of God's green snot. You walk left, you walk right, you are a bank rat on a busy river. This restaurant serves no drink, this one serves no meat, this one serves no heterosexuals. You can get your chimp shampooed, you can get your dick tattooed, twenty-four hour, but can you get lunch?
Martin Amis, Money, numa citação de The Art of Fiction
Exaltou-me especialmente o duplo sentido da palavra «serves» (serves no drinks, serves no heterosexuals) e o som de chimp shampooed, dick tattooed. Era só isto, podem continuar com as vossas vidas.