My Friend, Tony

Tony lives in a tree top, surrounded by old movie posters. They are tacked to the leaves with vinyl adhesive. They shine like Pyrite.

From up there it's hard to tell he's so short. 5'2 but square and sturdy. It always looks like he's about to spring up and take your nose between his forefinger and middle finger. Of course he would never do that – Tony's a nice guy.

Tony's the perfect wash-up. He transitioned from bit actor to experimental film maker to video clerk to my new best friend. In other words, from glitter to stone to corner to turquoise.

We are sitting in his living room, getting high: he on the weed, me on the sauce. He's mostly quiet and I fill the gaping silences with chatter. The room becomes me as I talk about me. Sometimes he talks about himself, but the room is still me, my conversation 10 minutes ago.

“I'm going to fuck you,” he says, clear blue eyes eyes lowered. “You don't think so. I know it. That's what the other girls said; but you will.”

Tony and I walk, while I talk. The street becomes me as the familiars give me their regards.

“I fucked that guy.” I say.

“Who?” Tony asks, eyes lowered again.

“The valet guy. The Afghani guy, I fucked him. It was just a one-time thing. I used to bike by all of the time and he would chat with me. I knew from the first few meetings or so that we were going to fuck. He kept asking me to come over and one day I said yes. On the car ride over he told me about his two kids.”

“You're so fucking dirty,” he says. Eyes as low as ever.

We walk and I talk and we laugh. I like that he thinks he's going to fuck me. It makes me feel sexy even though I know I won't do it. He's short and a stoner and 46 – all of the things that don't get my socks around my ankles, if you know what I mean.

“You know, all of this talk... about this shit. Fucking that guy. The fetish, the BDS stuff. It just turns me on more. The more you talk about it, the more turned on I get.”

Tony blinks a lot. He blinks hard, and lets blue crystals flash for seconds at a time.

In a parallel universe, I might fuck Tony. I might have fucked him in this universe, but now I can't. Now that he put a bounty on my cunt.

                                                                                  * * *

We are swinging from the tree tops but really we are both sinking into the couch. The Twilight Zone plays in the background while he talks about his bout with cancer and I talk about the STDs I've had and dodged. I eat his crackers, while he hits his pipe every 20 minutes or so – as if I'm the stoned one. He lowers his eyes at me – as if I'm the only freak in the room.