The young Claretta, in back of her parents’ car, shouted 'Il Duce!' That was that, his red Alfa Romeo simmering. Instead of the wife or children, she fluttered on her meat hook, loyal in the gas station sun as years of poetry and longing, silly girl, stupid cow, sweet Christ.

Obsession. The need fulfilled becoming more need until just the need fulfills. The way wind drags ceaselessly on dry leaves or surf smashes itself. To be those things or die trying. And there's no "or."

Styx