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Chapter 13

I dig you. Call me.

I sit on the edge of the bed and yank the landline phone from the base, but struggle to remember his number.

I recall something he said to me last night at the all-men’s club—an underground bar for gay men.

I am transported back to that evening where I navigate the congested dance floor through a mob of horny college and middle-aged men to the bar. I find a seat at the counter and place my beer order with Rue, the bushy bearded bartender with a sick sense of humor.

That is when I meet Steve, and we knock into each other—literally—when ordering our drinks. His back is to me, but my left shoulder slams into the side of him by accident, hard enough for him to turn around and notice me.

Our watery gazes meet.

If eyes are the windows to the soul, then Steve’s smile might be the front door to my world. I do not share this bit of poetry with him, but we do hit it off and start up a conversation.