“Fuck, buddy, I am a Dylan fanatic,” he answered.“Me too,” I replied.“Well, is that all?” he answered challengingly."Okay, why don’t we ...dd a bit of Elton, as well?” I answered.“Which one of his songs?” he inquired.“Rocket Man,” I instantly replied.“Fuck, Travis, I think you and I should get married,” he countered.“Wow, Will I be able to afford all the tips?” I replied mockingly. “Well, you can pay me in kind,” he playfully answered.“And how will I do that?” I challenged.With that, he got off. It’s pathetic.Part of it may be that I’ve never quite felt as alive as I do now. My days are dangerous and somehow unpredictable, even though I end up doing the same thing for a week. I never know what mood he’ll be in, if he’ll even look at me.He must be as horrified as I am. Very rarely do our bodies make accidental contact. He doesn’t spend an excess of time with me. He’s stopped indulging me with chocolate every now and then, or an extra blanket when the chill from the cracks in the walls. More

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