Chapter 9

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H. Maximiliani: Following his prayer, opening his eyes, he sees the screened-in patio is weak with light. The City Man is nothing more than a shadow on the sofa. Although it’s two o’clock in the morning, crickets chirp wildly, enjoying night. Isaac is bare-chested and breathing. His chest is slick with sweat; nipples dotted with liquid orbs; stomach slowly rises and falls, silky looking with a shiny film of night’s perspiration. The picture of his son unmoving at his side, H. reaches forward with an outstretched finger, collects sweat from one of the City Man’s ribs, and caresses the fingers against his lips, tasting sticky syrup of sleep, falling under his stayover’s spell, lightheaded with his passion found—his pleasure.

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