Cyrus called our Saturday visits to Jude “grocery shopping.” “Like volunteering in a co-op,” he’d said once on our way to Jude’s house. “Except sexier,” I added. “Oh my god,” said Cyrus. “Yeah. Are we doing sex work? Is this sex work? Are we selling our bodies?” “Angela Davis would say we’re all selling our bodies,” I said, smiling. “That the only difference between a coal miner and a prostitute is our retrograde puritan values about sex. And misogyny.”
