But these are not his thoughts, he knows; they’re the product of cultural programming that tells him who he is in this Second Life, what he is here in the United States of 1962 – an upper-middle-class white male who can manhandle his neighbour’s wife if he wants, who can snap a sultry bitch’s neck if he needs to – and this programming, woven so thoroughly into his identity matrix, is impossible to ignore without tremendous effort. It’s always there.
