Melissa waited months for her army husband to come home, but has a little trouble dealing with his newfound religion when she does.

(from Brief Encounters with Che Guevara)

“We can’t do this tonight,” he told her. One of his arms held her shoulders, sympathetic yet sterile, exuding a brotherly tenderness that scared the daylights out of her.
“Tomorrow’s fine, we can do it all day tomorrow and frankly there’s nothing I’d rather do. But tonight I can’t.” He paused. “I can’t make love on Saturdays.”

I’m really digging this Ben Fountain guy. He knows when to dirty up a sentence with extra phrases. He knows when to drive straight and let the story tell the story. You can read it here.