There’s a tipping point that comes on nights like these. Where I go from feeling hot to seeing stubble that isn’t there, and to inspecting the hair on women’s upper lips to see if the amount I have left is natural. I see the angle of my cheeks and size of my jaw. I see the width of my shoulders. The hormones could dissolve the muscles around them, but they’ll never shave bone. I wonder if they’re really that wide, and whether drugs distort or purify. I wonder what I actually look like and who the fuck can tell me. It feels like when I used to look in the mirror when I was younger, when I would
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