He was right

He showed up to my hotel room door in a gold F150, and yellow roses that I am sure he got at the Piggly Wiggly.

His dirty eyes smiled when he asked, “is you ready or not?” The hand not holding the roses, was in his pocket.

I smile and wink, “are you?”

“Yes, ma’am” he says.

I didn’t think he really was, none of them ever are. He apologizes about not having an air conditioner and that the radio only played one AM station. He was listening to the news on it, but he could turn it off if I’d like. I just shrugged.

“Now, ain’t that some shit.” He pointed to the radio. “you heard about that there story?”

“No. Not really.” I lied.

“Some dude’s going around killing other dudes.” he said.

“oh really? some dude.” I admire my own tits as I speak.

“Yea.” he said. “Prolly, some stupid faggot killing other pussier faggots.” he turned the radio off. “I’ll tell you what, ain’t no faggot ever going to kill me.”

I smile, and place my hand on his knee. He was right, no faggot would kill him.

“Why do you suppose somebody would want to do that anyway? Kill faggots and all.”

I smile and look at that place where the earth meets the sky. It was painted pink. “Every Nero needs a scapegoat.” I smiled.

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