"But then a couple nights later, I go back and there's someone in the
dumpster, up to his nipples in hockey cards."
"The cop," Alan said.
"The cop," Kurt said. "Right."
"That's the story about the cop in the dumpster, huh?" Alan said.
"That's the story. The moral is: We're all only a c-hair away from
jumping in the dumpster and getting down in it."
"C-hair? I thought you were trying not to be sexist?"
"*C* stands for *cock*, okay?"
Alan grinned. He and Kurt hadn't had an evening chatting together in
some time. When Kurt suggested that they go for a ride, Alan had been
reluctant: too much on his mind those days, too much *Danny* on his
mind. But this was just what he needed. What they both needed.
"Okay," Alan said. "We going to eat?"
"We're going to eat," Kurt said. "The Vietnamese place is just up
ahead. I once heard a guy there trying to speak Thai to the waiters. It
was amazing -- it was like he was a tourist even at home, an ugly
fucked-up tourist. People suck."
"Do they?" Alan said. "I quite like them. You know, there's pretty good
Vietnamese in Chinatown."
"This is good Vietnamese."
"Better than Chinatown?"
"Better situated," Kurt said. "If you're going dumpster diving
afterward. I'm gonna take your cherry, buddy." He clapped a hand on
Alan's shoulder. Real people didn't touch Alan much.
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