I model my new outfit for Adrik—bright orange fleece joggers, a white hoodie, and a pair of Stan Smiths that are probably counterfeit, but an excellent fake. They even have the little green tabs on the tongue with Stan’s portrait. “Orange looks amazing with your skin.” Adrik gives me an appreciative up and down. “You have good style—it’s fuckin’ sexy.” “Thank you, thank you,” I say, posing for him. “What’s this for?” he says, tugging at a little stretchy string on the butt. The joggers have several pockets and zips with no apparent purpose. “I dunno,” I say. “Don’t pull on it.” “I think your
...more
