Kid from a different kind of place, the streets maybe, a male hustler. A male hustler bound for higher places, no matter what he has to do to get there.
He befriends an older guy.
Hangs out, reads books, orders latte after latte. Bats his eyes, moves slowly, like a boa constrictor -- but always, always with eyes on the finish line. One day he orders a biscotti. The next a couple of muffins. The next day he stays for lunch.... but always, always.
He grows desperate, this Steve. This Steve with no last name. He has a drub problem, maybe. Or he's been skimming of what he owes his John. Maybe he's tied up with the mob and owes them money.
Maybe he's been hired by Barbara, Charley's daughter, that vengeful bitch. Yes!! She went out on the streets, in the bad section of Santa Monica Boulevard -- looking for a pawn, to have a boy do her handiwork!
No. That's not possible.
It's Steve from beginning to end. I'm positive. Look at how solicitious he's been to Hugo -- the perfect ploy. Not making a pass, not fending them off. Not aggressive or submissive - right on the fence.
And where is he, where is this Steve with no last name?
No where.
Everyone else is here but Steve.
He's in Acapulco.
We'll never see him again. He's sipping cappucino in a coffee house in the middle of Mexico and he'll never be seen again, count on it.
PROOF!
We need proof! The police dusted the place for fingerprints, but what if Steve wore gloves? What if he melted his fingerprints off in a fire? I never remember seeing his hands! Oh, my God! He did.
He had this date with Hugo from the very beginning.
Just like Stanley Kowalski and Blance DuBois!
