#plus sending him back on tour when he’s supposed to be resting??????(doctors fucking orders btw.)

[mrkis]

haechan getting punished for doing the most normal thing is actually insane. people are sensitive as fuck. idgaf.

[lucas-koh]

Stitches - Bryce Lahela x MC V

Parts 1-4 are linked in my bio.

Doesn’t exactly follow canon, but elements of canon. FWB.

Song: Sudden Desire - Hayley Williams

Rating: M; implied sex, sexual language, swearing, mentions of medical procedures

Word Count: 3305

Taglist: @lahellacute @lahamseiroshoe @anotherbeingsworld @fuseboxmusebox @choicesficwriterscreations @bubblelaureno @bratzlahela

Chapter Five: The Tale and The Missed Moment

Bryce and Suki’s Fuck Buddy Agreement:

1. No work-place hookups.

2. No staying the night.

3. Always use the signal. 👃

4. No drunk texting a sober person.

5. No visible marks.

6. Proof of sexual health.

7. Keep it casual.

—-

Santa Fe: this is Suki hello

Santa Fe: i’ve sent the list

Scalpel Jockey: 👃

Santa Fe: that’s it, 👃

Scalpel Jockey: 👄

Scalpel Jockey: shit I meant 👃

Scalpel Jockey: big thumbs oops!

Seen on 15th October

—-

The following weeks felt like months. Work was long, it was stressful, and it was exhausting. Sometimes all Suki wanted to do was curl up into a ball in bed and sleep for as long as possible, letting the stress of working long hours in hospital compress out of her. Sometimes, she wanted to bundle up on the sofa and watch movies with her roommates. But sometimes, Suki wanted to release her tension in other ways. Ways that involved Bryce Lahela.

They left before the morning, were careful with their grip and kisses so as to not leave any marks, and they kept work at work. The arrangement was working out perfectly, and the rules proved successful as well.

So, on paper, everything was going fine.

And everything was still fine when Halloween rolled around and the roommates planned a relaxed evening at Donahue’s followed by horror movies. They didn’t really get a chance to dress up due to work schedules and a lack of time, but they were dressed up in spirit.

They arrived early and snagged a booth: Jackie and Suki squeezing in on one side and Sienna and Aurora on the other. Elijah wheeled his chair under the head of the table. They chatted for a bit before Sienna jumped up to order a round.

A few beers and shots (courtesy of Jackie) later, the group were having some in depth conversations, making jokes, and generally enjoying each others company.

There was a rowdy, annoying group of surgical interns stood nearby the entrance. No sign of Bryce there, however. Suki was somewhat disappointed, it was an amusing thought to her to see Bryce out the open again since they’d made their rules. She’d been to his a couple of times since then, but they hadn’t seen each other all that much really. Those times had been quick and at the end of long work days too, so Suki was looking forward to being able to draw things out a bit more at some point soon. She’d been quite obviously avoiding hookups at her house if it could be helped, because there were too many risk factors.

Plus, with him being a surgeon his hours were completely different to Suki’s, and actually stealing moments could prove tricky. She might’ve been one of the best medical interns, but word at Edenbrook was that Bryce was excelling over all the surgical interns, actually being able to watch a few surgeries, too.

That being said, she was glad he wasn’t there. She was able to enjoy a lovely evening with her roommates without thinking about only her carnal desires.

But as though the world was sending her a sign, the bell over the door rang to indicate someone entering. Bryce entered by himself, walking straight past the rowdy group of surgical interns and heading right for the roommates. He was wearing a plain black tee and distressed blue jeans, a very different look to his green scrubs.

What was he doing here, if not to see the surgical interns? Had he come to drink… alone? Or had one of the roommates told him they’d be there? They had invited him to the housewarming party, after all.

Then again, if it wasn’t for that party, they never would have come to their little agreement.

There was a knowing smirk on his face as he got closer to the group.

Suki felt her stomach contract a little; they hadn’t really interacted that much as a group since the two had devised their little plan. She wasn’t going to let anything slip, but she couldn’t promise she wouldn’t be maybe a little awkward. Just a tad.

“Hey man! Come join us,” Elijah invited. Bryce grinned and squeezed in beside Suki on the bench.

She cleared her throat uncomfortably, not looking Bryce in the eye as she gave a greeting nod. His leg pressed against hers where they sat, and he was now so close that Suki could smell his cologne. Of course, nowadays, she only smelt that when they were having sex, so the smell brought her head right back to all those moments.

“Don’t you have friends over there?” Suki asked, motioning her head to where the group of surgical interns were congregated. They were now laughing obnoxiously about something.

An odd expression flashed over his face suddenly but was quickly warped into a smirk. “Well I’d rather spend time with you lovely nose wipers.”

“Oi!” Protested Jackie.

“Welcome! Enjoy our Halloween celebrations. They’re pretty lowkey this year, I wish we could all dress up and go to a party or something but, work calls,” Sienna rushed, smiling at Bryce opposite her.

Now that he was closer, and his hands lay casually on the table in front of him, Suki could see a few silver rings assorted over his long fingers. Interesting. She had an impulse to reach out and brush her fingers over them, or to have them dig into her own fingers, her body. And from that moment, she was screwed for the rest of the night. Serves you right for being so goddamn thirsty.

A few hours later, more drinks down and the thoughts having continued through her head, Suki nudged Bryce gently with her shoulder. They’d all been talking as a group for the night, so they hadn’t spoken one-on-one at all yet. He looked over at her, his face pretty close due to them sitting in such proximity. She brushed her nose with her middle finger - she could pass it off as a simple scratch. Bryce smirked. His eyes flicked subtlety down to Suki’s lips, and he chuckled under his breath, moving a thumb over his bottom lip and hanging his head when he looked away from her.

Just as he was about to slide off the bench and make up an excuse to leave, Sienna shouted:

“Guys! According to google maps there’s a walking ghost tour nearby. We should go!”

“I’m kinda spent-“ Bryce began.

“No! No way you’re bailing on this, Lahela. You’re one of us ‘nose wipers’ now. We bought you drinks!” Sienna cut him off, her sweet features contorting into mock anger.

He blew air from his cheeks, but he didn’t seem annoyed. “Is everyone going?”

“I… guess?” Added Suki.

“I’m… not sure,” hesitated Elijah.

“They’re not scary, Elijah. It’s just a load of paranormal bullshit,” Jackie said.

After a bit of coaxing and a couple more shots, the group headed out of Donahue’s. They walked down a few roads before they found a man in a long leather coat holding a lantern. Sienna bounded up to him and handed him some money, the others pointing out they’d pay her back later. He introduced himself as Henry and noted that they’d wait for some more people.

Bryce and Suki kept glancing at each-other, knowing their previous plans were probably not likely to happen. Nonetheless, Sienna’s excitement was rubbing off on everyone, and even Elijah seemed into the idea. Jackie and Aurora were discussing whether or not they believed in ghosts.

Soon enough, a large group had formed around Henry, and he went into an animated sing-songy tale about the ghost history around that area of Boston.

“And in this very alley…” Henry said dramatically a little later, “is where the ghost resides. AH!” Henry let out a loud shout, causing Suki to jump back into Aurora.

“You okay?” Aurora laughed. Suki nodded with a flustered chuckle, then Henry continued leading them down the road.

Well, that wasn’t at all embarrassing.

“Awwww, don’t tell me you’re scared, Santa Fe?” Bryce sidled up beside her.

“Of course I’m not scared!” She protested, “it’s easy to be shocked by a jump scare,” she turned her face ever so slightly, obstructing the tell-tale look on her face from Bryce’s gaze.

Henry was a fantastic story teller, emphasising the right parts and using his face and body to convey the different emotions; the group found themselves being swept up in the story. Or, facts, if one believed in the supernatural. Things were calming down a little in terms of the group being freaked out, and every now and again Bryce would lean over to Suki and whisper some kind of commentary about Henry’s story. She could just tell he was the type to talk through movies. But she didn’t mind, and actually found it quite amusing.

Then, just seconds later, a young group of guys were walking past and noticed the ghost tour, and simultaneously jumped and shouted at the touring group. It was a poor attempt to scare them. At this, however, Bryce himself yelped loudly and backed into Suki. She caught him, even though he was heavy.

“Awww, don’t tell me you’re scared, Scalpel Jockey? And of teenagers?” Suki mocked in an echo of his words before, holding the backs of his biceps in support. He had no jacket on, so his arms were chilly and she could feel the faint goosebumps on his skin. She found herself hoping her grip might warm him up a little. She was a doctor, after all. After a few seconds Suki let go of Bryce and the two scrambled a little to catch up with the group.

“How was I supposed to know they were just kids?!”

Suki threw her head back with a cackle as the image of Bryce cowering away from a group of teenage boys replayed in her mind. She raised an eyebrow at him, pulling her lips into her mouth.

“I wasn’t scared, obviously. No ones scared of teenagers. Well, maybe those people Gerard Way was talking about,” he laughed, his cocky demeanour flooding back into his words and face.

“And old people. Actually – lots of people find teenagers scary.”

“Well, not me.”

“Wouldn’t have pegged you as an MCR kid, though.”

“Only on the down-low,” he gave her a wink, “I was far too cool for that at school.”

“Right,” she scoffed, “Just too cool. Cool enough that you basically shat yourself at a random guy fucking with us.”

“You jumped a minute ago!”

“Yeah, along with half the tour group.”

He harrumphed. She shoved him playfully with her shoulder, partly as part of the conversation, but partly to put a little distance between them. There was still some alcohol lurking in her system and she just wanted to pull him into the alley from before, but, she couldn’t. He didn’t come closer again after the nudge.

“Shhh!” Chastised Jackie from in front of them, who was utterly engaged in Henry’s commentary. Bryce and Suki exchanged a look and tried to keep their laughter as quiet as possible.

—-

Later on, the group were walking up toward their apartment, discussing the night’s events. Everyone had a great time, even if it might not have been the Halloween they were all used to. They walked in a staggered lump, moving fluidly between each-other. Their voices carried down the empty Boston residential blocks, yellowed streetlights illuminating their smiling faces, setting the mood for the comedown of the night perfectly.

“…The Shining, duh. And we can’t forget The Conjuring, or The Texas Chainsaw Massacre. These are classics, Aurora,” Elijah babbled along to the group.

“I vote Halloweentown,” piped up Sienna. Aurora laughed and dug her keys out of her pocket.

“Bryce, you coming in for movies?” Asked Elijah.

“Ah,” he looked over at Suki very briefly, “best not. It might be Halloween but I don’t function well on no sleep. Plus, I’ve intruded for long enough.”

Suki knew that if Bryce stayed there was every chance he’d be ending the night in her bedroom, and she’d been avoiding that since the Aurora situation.

“Killjoy,” chuckled Jackie, giving him a friendly smack on the back before entering the apartment building.

“See you next time!” Sienna pulled Bryce in for a hug, her tiny frame dwarfed by his six odd feet and broad stature. Elijah and Aurora chimed in with their farewells.

“Well… goodnight then,” nodded Suki. She didn’t go in for any kind of farewell, it wasn’t really their style. Particularly not in the company of others.

“Yeah. See you around.”

There was a moment where they kind of stared at each-other that felt like it went on for hours, but in reality was brief.

And with that, Bryce walked off down the road. There was an odd pang in Suki’s chest at the missed opportunity as she watched his figure get smaller and smaller. She’d been waiting since she’d given him the signal at Donahue’s for a chance to sneak off, trying not to look at him too much during the ghost tour or walk too close to him. There was just something ridiculously engaging about paying too much attention to Bryce Lahela that made her lose all her other thoughts. Even if she didn’t really want him to come in given everyone else, there was a sort of disappointment that he hadn’t seemed to want to come in. He’d only given her the briefest look and there was no signal, no attempt to continue the night. But it obviously just wasn’t in the cards for her to get laid that night.

That being said, Suki had enjoyed herself way more than she’d anticipated: the tour itself was entertaining, and of course spending time with her friends. And… Bryce wasn’t all that bad. Maybe sex wasn’t all he was good for. But either way, she couldn’t let herself get too tangled up in the other aspects of his personality, it would get messy.

“Come on then,” Sienna ushered the rest of them inside.

—-

“Hey,” Bryce’s voice rose up from behind where Suki sat eating a sandwich in the cafeteria. She turned to face him, bread stuffed in her mouth, and followed him with her eyes as he took the seat opposite her.

“Hmi,” she tried to say through her mouthful.

He barked out a laugh and pulled a shiny red apple from his pocket, flipping it round in his hands.

“When you’ve finished your mouthful,” he wiggled his eyebrows, “you free tonight?”

“Yeah, why?”

He gave her a disbelieving smirk. “You know why.” He took a casual bite from the apple, the crisp crunch ringing in her ears over the ruckus of the cafeteria.

She laughed, realising. “Sorry, still in Doctor mode. You could’ve texted, you know.”

“Eh, you were here, I needed a seat to eat my apple in. So?”

“Yeah, I’m free. I’ll drop by after my shift.”

“Cool.” He took another crunch from his apple and stood from the table, gave Suki a nod, and then swaggered off out of the cafeteria without a look back.

“See ya,” she muttered to herself.

Didn’t he just say he wanted to sit down and eat his apple?

—-

Suki exhaled breathlessly as Bryce rolled away from her body. They were both left in a sheen of sweat and exhausted. After a couple of moments for the duo to catch their breath, Bryce turned to face his body to her, propping his head up on his hand.

“So, not to be a bed brag or anything but… you just had sex with the guy who’s assisting on Dr Tanaka’s next surgery.”

Suki let out a breathy chuckle.

“You are a brag.” Then she turned so that she faced him from the other pillow, also propping up her head on her hand, “Well done, though.” Her voice went softer, and her face took on a disarming sincerity.

Bryce was taken aback by her genuine praise, but he couldn’t let her know that.

“Thanks,” he said, eyebrows furrowed with humour, “I’m actually really excited.”

“What’s the surgery?”

“Only an appendectomy.”

“Only?”

He laughed, sinking his head back down onto the pillow. His hands cradled under his head.

“Yeah, it’s not particularly advanced. Still, gonna be fun.”

They were talking as though they were friends, which wasn’t really a label Suki had felt appropriate to ascribe to their relationship.

“When is it?” Suki, stop asking him questions! Then again, at this point it would be awkward if she just up and left.

“Next week. Pencil it in your calendar because you are going to have the best sex of your life that night.”

Suki let out a cackle. “Is there anything you don’t think you’re amazing at?”

Again, Bryce propped himself back up so that he was facing Suki. There seemed to be a restlessness to all this changing of positions.

“I’m not lying though, am I?” As he said this his voice was low and sultry, deep mahogany eyes watching her from under his lashes. Those were sticking together slightly from the sweat, Suki was close enough to notice. He brought one of his hands down under the covers and rested it on Suki’s hip.

“If you’re trying to get me to boost your ego - It won’t work.”

He smirked, knowing that the answer he’d been looking for was hidden in those words. And she did agree. He was amazing in bed.

Bryce drew barely-there circles on Suki’s hip, before pulling it towards him. Then he leaned his face right in, so that it was inches from hers.

“I don’t need you to say it because I can see it in your eyes,” and yes, he was looking straight into her eyes. But she felt sort of drunkenly infatuated with it, her desire growing by the second. “and feel it on your skin.” His grip on her hip tightened, the sweat condensing between their skin-on-skin contact. Now they were close enough that they could do it all over again if they wanted to.

Bryce trailed his finger up from Suki’s hip slowly, tickling her skin and giving her goosebumps, over the dip of her waist, the rise of her ribcage; all the way up to her neck. He splayed his hand out flat over the front of her neck, and tightened his grip. Just enough that she could feel it. Face still inches from her, he said:

“I just have an effect on people.”

And then in one swift movement, and a melodious laugh, Bryce pulled his hand and his body from hers, falling once again on his back at the pillow beside Suki’s.

Fucking hell. Talk about flustered! Suki tried to pretend she was unaffected, also flopping back onto her pillow. He did have an effect on people and he knew full well by now that Suki, despite her best efforts to conceal the fact, was not someone who handled being flustered well. And let’s be honest, she wouldn’t keep sleeping with the guy if it wasn’t something she was enjoying.

Despite that, though, there she was, lying in Bryce’s bed post-lay and completely naked, and not worrying about it. Not in the way she’d worried their first morning, shuffling to cover herself with her bedsheets. She supposed by now he knew her body inside and out, and that emotional intimacy she’d been scared of had warped into a purely carnal intimacy. Plus, the fact that she hadn’t just woken up next to him, slightly hungover, probably helped.

“Yeah, you keep telling yourself that,” she practically choked out, as though his hand was still splayed over her neck.

He could tell he’d affected her, and that classic smirk spread wider over his face as he stared at his bedroom ceiling.

[carefullydoesit-blog]

Postcards from America: X-rays from Hell (1988)

Late yesterday afternoon a friend came over unexpectedly to sit at my kitchen table and try and find some measure of language for his state of mind. “What’s left of living?” He’s been on AZT for six to eight months and his T-cells have dropped from 100 plus to 30. His doctor says: “What the hell do you want from me?” Now he’s asking himself: “What the hell do I want?” He’s trying to answer this while in the throes of agitating FEAR.

I know what he’s talking about as each tense description of his state of mind slips out across the table. The table is filled with piles of papers and objects; a boom-box, a bottle of AZT, a jar of Advil (remember, you can’t take asprin or Tylenol while on AZT). There’s an old smiley mug with pens and scissors and a bottle of Xanax for when the brain goes loopy; there’s a Sony tape-recorder that contains a half-used cassette of late night sex talk, fears of gradual dying, anger, dreams and someone speaking Cantonese. In this foreign language it says: My mind cannot contain all that I see. I keep experiencing this sensation that my skin is too tight; civilization is exploding inside of me. Do you have a room with a better view? I am experiencing the X-ray of civilization. The minimum speed required to break through the earth’s gravitational pull is seven miles a second. Since economic conditions prevent us from gaining access to rockets or spaceships we have to learn to run awful fast to achieve escape from where we are all heading . . .

My friend across the table says, “There are no more people in their 30’s. We’re all dying out. One of my four best friends just went into the hospital yesterday and he underwent a blood transfusion and is now suddenly blind in one eye. The doctors don’t know what it is . . .” My eyes are still scanning the table; I know a hug or a pat on the shoulder won’t answer the question mark in his voice. The AZT is kicking in with one of its little side-effects: increased mental activity which in translation means I wake up these mornings with an intense claustrophobic feeling of fucking doom. It also means that one word too many can send me to the window kicking out panes of glass, or at least that’s my impulse (the fact that winter is coming holds me in check). My eyes scan the surfaces of walls and tables to provide balance to the weight of words. A 35mm camera containing the unprocessed images of red and blue and green faces  in close-up profile screaming, a large postcard of a stuffed gorilla pounding its dusty chest in a museum diorama, a small bottle of hydrocortisone to keep my face from turning into a mass of peeling red and yellow flaking skin, an airline ticket to Normal, Illinois, to work on a print, a small plaster model of a generic Mexican pyramid looking like it was mad in Aztec kindergarten, a tiny motorcar with tiny Goofy driving at the wheel . . .

My friend across the table says, “The other three of my four best friends are dead and I’m afraid that I won’t see this friend again.” My eyes settle on a six-inch-tall rubber model of Frankenstein from the Universal Pictures Tour gift shop, ™ 1931: his hands are enormous and my head fills up with replaceable body parts; with seeing the guy in the hospital; seeing myself and my friend across the table in line for replaceable body parts; my wandering eyes aren’t staving off the anxiety of his words; behind his words, so I say, “You know … he can still rally back . . . maybe . . . I mean people do come back from the edge of death . . .”

“Well,” he says, “he lost thirty pounds in a few weeks …”

A boxed cassette of someone’s interview with me in which I talk about diagnosis and how it simply underlined what I knew existed anyway. Not just the disease but the sense of death in the American landscape. How when I was out west this summer standing in the mountains of a small city in New Mexico I got a sudden and intense feeling of rage looking at those postcard perfect slopes and clouds. For all I knew I was the only person for miles and all alone and I didn’t trust that fucking mountain’s serenity. I mean it was just bullshit. I couldn’t buy the con of nature’s beauty; all I could see was death. The rest of my life is being unwound and seen through a frame of death. My anger is more about this culture’s refusal to deal with mortality. My rage is really about the fact that WHEN I WAS TOLD THAT I’D CONTRACTED THIS VIRUS IT DIDN’T TAKE ME LONG TO REALIZE THAT I’D CONTRACTED A DISEASED SOCIETY AS WELL.

On the table is today’s newspaper with a picture of cardinal O’Connor saying he’d like to take part in operation rescue’s blocking of abortion clinics but his lawyers are advising against it. This fat cannibal from the house of walking swastikas up on fifth avenue should lose his church tax-exempt status and pay retroactive taxes from the last couple centuries. Shut down our clinics and we will shut down your “church.” I believe in the death penalty for people in positions of power who commit crimes against humanity, i.e., fascism. This creep in black skirts has kept safer-sex information off the local television stations and mass transit advertising spaces for the last eight years of the AIDS epidemic thereby helping thousands and thousands to their unnecessary deaths.

My friend across the table is talking again. “I just feel so fucking sick … I have never felt this bad in my whole life … I woke up this morning with such intense horror; sat upright in bed and pulled on my clothes and shoes and left the house and ran and ran and ran …” I’m thinking maybe he got up to the speed of no more than ten miles an hour. There are times I wish we could fly; knowing that this is impossible I wish I could get a selective lobotomy and rearrange my senses so that all I could see is the color blue; no images or forms, no sounds or sensations. There are times I wish this were so. There are times that I feel so tired, so exhausted. I may have been born centuries too late. A couple of centuries ago I might have been able to be a hermit but the psychic and physical landscape today is just too fucking crowded and bought up. Last night I was invited to dinner upstairs at a neighbor’s house. We got together to figure out how to stop the landlord from illegally tearing the roofs off our apartments. The buildings dept. had already shut the construction crew down twice and yet they have started work again. The recent rains have been slowly destroying my western wall. This landlord some time ago allowed me to stay in my apartment without a lease only after signing an agreement that if there were a cure for AIDS I would have to leave within 30 days. A guy visiting the upstairs neighbor learned that I had this virus and said he believed that although the government probably introduced the virus to the homosexual community, that homosexuals were dying en masse as a reaction to centuries of society’s hatred and repression of homosexuality. All I could think of when he said this was an image of hundreds of whales that beach themselves on the coastlines in supposed protest of the ocean’s being polluted. He continued: “People don’t die – they choose death. Homosexuals are dying of this disease because they have internalized society’s hate …” I felt like smacking him in the head, but held off momentarily, saying, “As far as your theory of homosexuals dying of AIDS as a protest against society’s hatred, what about the statistics that those people contracting the disease are intravenous drug users or heterosexually inclined, and that this seems to be increasingly the case. Just look at the statistics for this area of the lower east side.” “Oh,” he said, “they’re hated too …” “Look,” I said, “after witnessing the deaths of dozens of friends and a handful of lovers, among them some of the most authentically spiritual people I have ever known, I simply can’t accept mystical answers or excuses for why so many people are dying from this disease – really it’s on the shoulders of a bunch of bigoted creeps who at this point in time are in the positions of power that determine where and when and for whom government funds are spent for research and medical care.”

I found that, after witnessing Peter Hujar’s death on November 26, 1987, and after my recent diagnosis, I tend to dismantle and discard any and all kinds of spiritual and psychic and physical words or concepts designed to make sense of the external world or designed to give momentary comfort. It’s like stripping the body of flesh in order to see the skeleton, the structure. I want to know what the structure of all this is in the way only I can know it. All my notions of the machinations of the world have been built throughout my life on odd cannibalizations of different lost cultures and on intuitive mythologies. I gained comfort from the idea that people could spontaneously self-combust and from surreal excursions into nightly dream landscapes. But all that is breaking down or being severely eroded by my own brain; it’s like tipping a bottle over on its side and watching the liquid contents drain out in slow motion. I suddenly resist comfort, from myself and especially from others. There is something I want to see clearly, something I want to witness in its raw state. And this need comes from my sense of mortality. There is a relief in having this sense of mortality. At least I won’t arrive one day at my 80th birthday and at the eve of my possible death and only then realize my whole life was supposed to be somewhat a preparation for the event of death and suddenly fill up with rage because instead of preparation all I had was a lifetime of adaptation to the pre-invented world – do you understand what I’m saying here? I am busying myself with a process of distancing myself from you and others and my environment in order to know what I feel and what I can find. I’m trying to lift off the weight of the pre-invented world so I can see what’s underneath it all. I’m hungry and the pre-invented world won’t satisfy my hunger. I’m a prisoner of language that doesn’t have a letter or a sign or gesture that approximates what I’m sensing. Rage may be one of the few things that binds or connects me to you, to our pre-invented world.

My friend across the table says, “I don’t know how much longer I can go on … Maybe I should just kill myself.” I looked up from the Frankenstein doll, stopped trying to twist its yellow head off and looked at him. He was looking out the window at a sexy Puerto Rican guy standing on the street below. I asked him, “If tomorrow you could take a pill that would let you die quickly and quietly, would you do it?”

“No,” he said, “not yet.”

“There’s too much work to do,” I said.

“That’s right,” he said. “There’s still a lot of work to do …”