HIM: I wish I had just one more hit of muscle-building hormonal substance with dangerous side effects. ME: Why do you want that shit, man? HIM: It makes me perform better. ME: See, that’s the sad part. You think it does, but it doesn’t. HIM: But as long as I think it does, what’s the difference? ME: That’s a rather selfish point of view, don’t you think? HIM: Yes it is. May I say something? ME: Of course _[I can’t stand it any longer: yes: his voice: does have: the strain: two words: not said: my love.]_ HIM: This is the first time we’ve had a conversation like this in a long time. ME: Is that a good thing or a bad thing? HIM: Yes—that it has been a long time since the last one, or that we’re having this one? ME: Yes. HIM: Then it’s settled? ME: What? HIM: We can have sex now. ME: Hey, if you can dream it you can achieve it, baby. HIM: Excellent! Now where’d I put my can of dangerous side effects? ME: Oh for shit’s sake! HIM: Hey! Who’s dominant here, anyway? ME: Have you forgotten so soon? HIM: No. That’s exactly my point. You seem to have. ME: To have what? HIM: A cute little erection. ME: _[certain he doesn’t]_ I do not! _[then, after a pause]_ Oh! I guess I kind of do. _HIM gives the one smile, the one he learned in prison. ME slowly rolls over and plants his hands, elbows, knees and toes in the grass, and his ass in the air. Ahhhhh, Spring!_