There were drinks. A fire broke out. Some screaming. Commotion. Hunky firemen. Offers and refusals. Drunken lap dancing on the truck. Media.

He walks down the street, open pizza box in hand. The hounds follow at a safe distance, patiently waiting for the drunk boy to drop his load

She left him without explanation. After three years, he felt he deserved one. Finally, she relented. Your hands are too small, she told him.

I don’t care where you’re from, he says. You’re still wrong. But we’re talking about me, she protests. He shakes his head. Wrong, he repeats