I turned his nose into a fountain. My fist was five pennies. I closed my eyes, I made a wish, I came home with bloody knuckles, and it was the first piece of artwork we hung on the fridge. I remember staring at my hands the same way you stare at a midterm when all your answers are correct. I had no idea what class this was but I did know I was passing and isn’t that what masculinity has become?
