Fad

Teddy and I are in his blacklit basement, huffing glue and listening to Judas Priest. Teddy turns to me and says, “So, you tried fuckin’ your mom yet?”

I chuckle. “No. Not yet, Teddy.”

“You think I’m joking?”

“Have you?”

“Oh, yeah. Sweetest pussy I ever had.”

“My mom’s like sixty … and she has that thing on her head.”

“Yeah, I used to think my mom was pretty sick too but, man, that pussy.”

I pretended to think about it for a minute. “No. I don’t think I could.”

“Well, you’re one of the last then. I’m from California and everybody out there’s doin’ it. You just wait and see. You’ll come around.” Teddy smiled knowingly through glazed eyes that were little more than slits.

“Maybe so,” I said, the idea already seeming less absurd than it once did.