They called him "Father Frank" when he was young; he was first in his class at Catechism. The metaphor's not lost on him. He steps back into it. It's warmer than rain, and heavier than snow. And when Lip is done, and closes the window again, Frank walks away, shameless and stinking, into the steaming night. But they are both smiling.
If we're both victims, then neither of us are victims. If we're both sluts, then there's no such thing. In a world of dirty girls and boys, there is absolutely no room for shame. They will tell you this isn't true -- you will spend your whole life being told this is a lie -- because their empire rests on its denial, on your self-loathing and fear. Because the grownups around here have everything figured out. But it's the only truth that matters:
The absence of shame is grace. Your natural state is shamelessness. If we're both dirty to the same degree, then we are both clean.
Steve finds a girl, whirls her around in his arms, but it's not Fiona. She's still standing on the platform when the train rumbles by. Finally, Steve heads onto the Concourse, and Fiona heads to Jasmine's office. She walks the whole way. It's warm inside.
Sometimes we are baptized, and sometimes we drown. Those are the choices.