Don’t care. I need air, space. I can’t breathe.The doors finally hiss open and I stumble out, not caring I’ve left my sling-bag on the seat, my ...ketchbook at your feet.III. Verisimilitude“Caution, doors opening.”They pour out like a hoard of multicolored ants from their rainbow hill: women in tight little spandex shorts and sports-bras chit-chatting at breakneck speed. Think 90s exercise videos. They’ve got the wild hair thing going, the white Adidas, and the striped socks. Fucking white. I decided to show him my secret place with the cardboard bed. We soon arrived at the secret place.“Did you use a condom? I asked.He looked smug and said, “Of course, I always have one or two with me in a secret place in my wallet.”“You mean you have some in your pocket right now?” I am sure my eagerness was too obvious.“He looked at me closely and asked, “You want to get laid? Is that what you are saying? Have you even been fucked?”I was shocked at what I had said and what he had said. But I. More

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