Gringos: A Novel

by Charles Portis

I had been unfair to her, unless this was the only one she was ever going to have. She had called me a bum and a vandal and an enemy of the human race. I thought she was slightly insane, and of a bone-deep lunacy not likely to be corrected by age. And yet we were comfortable enough together. We didn’t get on each other’s nerves in close confinement.