Galleria Vittorio Emanuele II (by Not Quite a Photographr)
And all at once there was Marion Crane looking at herself in the big mirror and seeing this drawn, contorted face peering back at her. She’d thrown something at the mirror, and then the mirror broke into a thousand pieces and she knew that wasn’t all; she was breaking into a thousand pieces, too. […]
She switched off the ignition and waited. She could hear the sullen patter of the rain and sense the sigh of the wind behind it. She remembered the sound, because it had rained like that the day Mom was buried, the day they lowered her into that little rectangle of darkness. And now the darkness was here, rising all around Marion. She was alone in the darkness. The money wouldn’t help her and Sam wouldn’t help her, because she’d taken the wrong turn back there and she was on a strange road. But no help for it—she’d made her grave now and now she must lie in it.
Why did she think that? It wasn’t grave, it was bed.Psycho by Robert Bloch