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I pick through my handful and give him my blues. Dino gives me his reds. When we kiss, our tongues turn purple.

This is a memory I cherish. I carry it with me like a pocketknife. I carry it with me like a postcard that I need to send but I don’t have any stamps.

I have a memory of my mother, aimlessly driving, drumming her hands on the steering wheel. She wears her hair in a bun held in place by a pencil. She’s the only person I’ve ever met who does this. She’s picked me up late from school once again. At this point she’s stopped giving excuses for why. No…

I leaned in. How about something a little more private? We could go to the back …

He stared at me, his voice plain and clear. Why would I have ground beef, he said, when I can get rib eye at home?

I don’t know, I said. I tried to stay calm, though my stomach lurched. Maybe because you’re hung…

It wasn’t just that she was pretty, but how—hearty, blond, bountiful. Round-hipped in white blouses. She looked like amber waves of grain, like prize roses and all-you-can-eat. Her legs were an infrastructural feat, something you drive for miles to see. It was patriotic to want to fuck her. If she …

What I noticed immediately was her long blond hair; it had the sheen of buttered toast. She stood with one hand on the pole, one hip cocked. Her eyes were blank, lips loose. She didn’t do any pole tricks, barely looked at the crowd. She didn’t act flirty or sultry or brash; nor did she act timid, t…