My cellphone’s glow illuminates the hall, and my free hand drags along a stucco wall whose Braille crumbles under my fingers. The light dies, a flick the volume button re-ignites the torch. Industrial debris crunches underfoot. My fingers lose contact with the wall when it terminates at an intersection, and I’m a kid in a crowd reaching for his mom’s hand that’s no longer there. I grope the wall out of the darkness once again, and follow its new direction …

The van loops lazy figure eights in the parking lot, tossing me side-to-side in its backseat, while the Swap and Spit Girls spit and swap my cock. My mind re-lives this morning’s fight with Amanda. The van flies into a curve too fast and teeth scrape my shaft, ripping me back into the Now, and I remember to moan the way you’re expected to when a redhead and a blonde are throwing a rainbow party in your lap. I’m not …

I shake the bottle. A Viagra tumbles into my fist. I pop the pill and crush it between my molars. Jack, the director, looks like a Hollywood screenwriter who never sold a script. We stand knee-to-knee in a makeup room the size of a parking space. This close, I taste the menthols on his breath. The fluorescent lights from the bank of vanity mirrors settles on our skin like a layer of soot. He says, “You strike me as a …

I’m hopped up on Viagra tossing an Asian girl back and forth with Malik like we’re Joe Montana and Jerry fucking Rice. Chemically enhanced, my skull is crunchy cereal caught in a vice and I’ve got a tone in my ears from my own private emergency broadcast station, wailing just for me. “Cut,” says Jackson. “We got enough vag, let’s get the anal.” Great, ass spelunking. I’ve never been a fan of the Sodomy Arts. When you see me digging …