_On the first day after the eviction, outside the apartment house._ ME: So, uh, where do you think we should go? HIM: Should go? SHOULD go? What the fuck do I know about SHOULD go? ME: Jesus, I was just asking your opinion. HIM: And DON’T call me Jesus! ME: Oh, for Christ’s sake . . . . HIM: Why are you so obsessed with deity? ME: Look, let’s just— _[looks around at the blazing sun, the dust in the streets, the tree branches hanging turgid like old negro ladies’ breasts]_ HIM: Let’s just what? Admit that we can’t even move, we’re paralyzed with fear of motion? ME: Yeah. HIM: Okay. Sounds sexy. ME: Well, I guess it could be . . . . _They draw together with a sense of gravity, gravity in the sense of inexorability not graveness, and begin to taste each other’s tongues. Slow. Like tasting a peach when you’re not sure yet what a peach is or what it might do to you. Welcome them. Welcome them to the outside. Let’s hope they can move soon, if not for their sakes then for ours, we who lust for movement and find it elusive._