“I love a dog that can kill,” Jay said. “He sits, he stays, he waits for his treat. But his genes remember. Ancient aggressions course through him. It’s a little like the gays”—he flicked Elijah’s arm—“don’t you think? They lie around listening to Diana Ross, drinking their vodka sodas. But they lift, they run. They have bodies made for war.” Elijah imagined how Mark would respond to this statement. Probably with the same bug-eyed inhalation with which he responded to all Jay’s theses about gay men: that they were the cruelest human beings on earth, that this was the source of their beauty,
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