The Killer Inside Me by Jim Thompson:
I ate part of a clubhouse sandwich, but it didn’t seem to set so well. So I fixed another big drink and took it over to the window. I felt kind of restless and uneasy. I wished I could get out and wander around the town.
Fort Worth is the beginning of West Texas, and I wouldn’t have felt conspicuous, dressed as I was, like I would have in Dallas or Houston. I could have had a fine time—seen something new for a change. And instead I had to stay here by myself, doing nothing, seeing nothing, thinking the same old thoughts.