even recognize and make you feel ashamed, so ashamed. There is only pleasure here, endless pleasure. “I trust you,” I say. “We are the same.” His smile is sharp as knives. “We are not. I’ve told you that before. Never make that mistake. We meet in lust. But we are not the same. Never will be.” “You worry about things of no importance. And you talk too much.” “You got me a birthday cake. It was pink. I smashed it into the ceiling.” I do not know “birthdays” or “cakes,” so I say nothing. “You like cars. I let you drive my Viper.” Cars! I remember those. Sleek, sexy, fast, and powerful, all the
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