There are good days—those that involve laughing with your friends, drinking eggnog, or getting your dick sucked. Or all three. And then there are terrible days, like when you have a fight with the men you love—a fight so bad that you think you might not recover from it—or you end up locked inside an unheated barn in Vermont in the winter with a demon goat. Hammering hard on the big barn door with my fist, I yell, “Help! Someone!” And wait. Nothing. No one comes. Which is to be expected, since I think I’m the only one here. “Here” meaning the entire seventy-two acres of this farm. Even if
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