All I've done is draw the shades and crawl in bed.
I think the room next to me is used by some hustler.
Through the walls I can hear them.
All night and day the door opens and closes, different older sounding men talk on and on about how their wives don't understand their needs and oh God yes, that's what daddy likes. How old are you? I have a son who's your age. You like this, don't you? I can see that you do. Oh yes, yes. There's an extra forty for you if you don't make me wear a rubber. Oh, you are so sweet. Eighteen, huh? Yes, do that oh yes oh yes oh yes.
The John leaves, the sink turns on, then off, the kid goes out the door and twenty minutes later the same thing starts over again.
All my life I've jumped from bed to bed. From man to man. I didn't care who it was as long as they looked good and kept me warm at night.
I feel just like that kid.
Isn't that what Steve called me?
I don't know what happened.
I don't know how to make the pain of loneliness end.
The kid in the next room probably sticks a needle in his arm to make it through the days. He just makes himself all numb inside and that's how he faces the endless line of men, who while he has them in his mouth are sucking the life out of him.
I wish I could take a drug that would let me forget.
Like the hypnotist in the carnival says. "Just close my eyes and sleep."
That's what I need to do. Sleep.
When I wake up, maybe I'll be a man.
