Chapter 2

Ritchie.

Here outside the club, his eyes are bright

with beer. “Hey man,” he laughs, leaning against me. His alcoholic

breath ignites my skin. “Listen to this. Want a blowjob?”

For a long moment I stare at him, not daring

to hopehe’s offering…is he for real? Or just pulling my

leg? Damn, what a loaded question to pop. “What?”

I glance past Ritchie to a grinning,

toothless bum who seems to have drifted into our conversation; he

stands like a satellite on the edge of Ritchie’s orbit, grizzled

face unwashed, a battered wool hat clamped down tight over a shock

of graying, wiry hair. He wears a trench coat, and one hand is

shoved deep into his pocket, fisted around a bottle of cheap booze

or his dick, I don’t know which. When I give him a contemptuous

look, his grubby grin only widens.

With a nod over his shoulder to indicate the

guy, Ritchie asks, “You got ten bucks?”

My hand strays to my back pocket, where my