. . .   What she needs is some perspective.  Some evitcepsrep.   A medical word.
Gradually her heart settles.  It's soothing to be among strangers, who require from her no efforts, no explanations, no reassurances.  She likes the mix on the street here, the mixed skins.  Chinatown has taken over mostly, though there are still some Jewish delicatessens, and, further up and off to the side, the Portuguese and West Indian shops of the Kensington Market.  . .  .

Question 12

The other day Milton stepped over a body and only later wondered if the man had been dead.  He sees bodies in the street all the time and tries not to look at them, tried to believe that they have nothing to do with him, that it's the world's fault.  The world let the teenagers cut out the blind man's tongue, let Connie become a drug addict, let Teresa's father rape her.  The world took away Milton's job and his wife.  He stares menacingly into the camera at the world, but all he sees is himself huddled on his couch in his plaid shirt and dirty jeans.
 

And then we did the whole walk-through of past relationships.  But if this talk was a house, we only did hallways, because the tour of Christina stopped at the tea room.  Her past was shiny.  And with her platinum hair and red lipstick she was a star herself.
. . .
[the end of the story]  And I thought: So we're all just going to be crating stars around in milk crates then.  And God, we were all impossible.

Question 14

The apartment had tried to kill her again.  She painted the walls as fast as she felt threatened.  The city, she has been through it in her searching, was dotted with bachelor apartments which she could not afford and hated anyway.  As she moved from one to the other, she painted the walls.  First yellow, to be bright, and then white, to be alone.

Question 15

The American soldier begins to 'paint' the screen with his brush.  A photograph of an American military plane from the 1940s emerges.  The image turns into running video of the plane flying.  The soldier holds his hand and the plane stops suddenly -- the film freezes into one frame.  The solder 'paints' the plane some more; the film starts running again, and the plane flies off, nearly hitting him.
 
The soldier picks up a bucket and gestures at the plane, tossing paint at the screen, which turns chartreuse again.  He paints again, revealing images of scantily clad women painted on the sides of planes.  He throws more paint at the screen, . . .