_HIM is walking home from the bus stop. Enter (from the bus) ANONYMOUS HIGH SCHOOL FRIEND 4._ ANONYMOUS HIGH SCHOOL FRIEND 4: Well, actually, I’m more of an acquaintance than a friend. _Whatever._ ANON. 4: Hey! Precision is important! For instance, if I wanted to indicate my pussy needed licking, I could either say ‘Lick my froth,’ or ‘Eat my tuna,’ and depending on— HIM: What? ANON. 4: I wasn’t talking to you. But what I said was, ‘Lick my froth or eat my tuna.’ HIM: Okay . . . . _They go behind the bushes. Because HIM is here in highschool-age for the second time, he already knows what to do. He licks her pussy. It tastes kind of good. Then he walks on down the hill to the lake, alone._ I’m in a reflective kind of mood. LAKE: Me too. _The lake turns bruised and turgid. It swirls covertly. It masks the sky with little ripples of doomed wind. Love hurts. It magnifies every time. HIM is instantly drawn in, so fast he hasn’t the time to notice the feeling of being sucked . . . yet. When the maelstrom is over, HIM is deposited on the cement steps in front of the laundromat,_ _back in his own age. In his hand is a report card. He looks at it, then reads:_ HIM: Math, D. P.E., D–. I suppose that would have been an F but for the Frisbee unit. Chemistry, D. History, F. Music, FFFFFFFFFFARTING all over the place. English, D. French, F. Pussy-Licking, A–. Well. Well, well, well. _At that moment, there is a ruckus inside the laundromat behind him!_