Except for his fascination for women’s upper parts , his joy drive had disappeared completely. He still committed beastly act once or twice a day while lying on the couch, but it did not come to anything. It was only a remnant of the pleasant habit he remembered having begun in puberty. He had no memories of being punished by his strict mother when he was a toddler for manipulating himself in public. There was nothing he could do, no one he could blame but himself. Resistance was futile. It was like trying to fight a giant feather pillow, all the mental blows he levied in his defense were harmlessly absorbed by his surroundings.
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