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unattractive, “Do you guys have girlfriends?”
    It’s a weird question. Todd says, “No.” I don’t say anything. Scarface says, “Cool.”
    I’m strangely attracted to her weird lip. I wonder if she’s had to develop some super cocksucking technique to compensate for her deformity. I wonder if she can even suck cock at all. Maybe she can’t suck cock so she’s had to expand her sexual repertoire to keep men interested. I picture myself fucking her in the ass and her genuinely enjoying it because she has to, because she knows that her openness to things other women aren’t is the most and only attractive quality she has.
    Leslie Leonard says, “So have you guys seen any good movies lately?”
    Todd says, “Movies are pretty gay right now. I saw the last UFC though.”
    One of the sisters says, “What’s UFC?”
    Todd says, “Ultimate Fighting Championship.”
    The conversation is dead until Scarface says, “Is that like boxing?”
    I wish the beer I’m drinking was Scotch.
    Scarface keeps on talking, “Boxing is pretty cool. I don’t mind watching that.”
    Scarface keeps going on about how much she can tolerate boxing, even more than watching football, and I keep watching her mouth move and wondering if there’s any way I could actually get her to suck my cock tonight. She seems kind of stupid but that doesn’t give me enough of a read to devise a game plan. I decide to wait it out, let her talk, let her get comfortable with me, and see where it goes.
    Two hours later I’m more drunk than I wanted to be and Scarface’s lip doesn’t look abnormal to me at all. I don’t know if it’s because I’m drunk or because I’ve stared at it for so long that it just seems normal.
    They shut down the bar and our whole group goes outside.
    I look over and see Todd kissing Leslie Leonard, which makes me realize there must have been an entire part of the night that I somehow missed while I was staring at Scarface’s lip, which I’m still doing when it moves and she says, “So are you gonna give me your number or what?”
    The alcohol and the hypnotic spell her lip has cast on me slow my mind to the point of not being able to produce a fake number. I give her my real one, not remembering even as I say it to find the strength to change a single digit.
    Scarface gives me a hug and for the first time all night I notice her body, which is nice. Hard little tits and a flat stomach. I wonder if she works out at home or if she braves a public gym with her lip. I wonder if she gets a Jamba Juice after she works out like I do sometimes and I also wonder if she uses a straw or if she even has the ability to use a straw.
    She hops in a car driven by one of the two sisters, as does Leslie Leonard, leaving Todd and me standing on the sidewalk. Todd says,
    “Dude, that bitch gave me her number. She’s only in town for another four days and she gave me her number. It’s fucking on.”
    I didn’t know at the time I decided to recognize her as Scarface if Todd did the same, but when he says, “So what happened with you and Scarface?” I realize he did. This also makes me realize that most guys’ default nickname for a bitch with any facial deformity is probably Scarface.
    I say, “I think I gave her my number.”
    “Holy shit. Your real number?”
    “Yeah.”
    “Why?”
    “I don’t know.”
    “Dude, her face is fucked up.”
    “I know.”
    “You think she’ll call you?”
    “I don’t know.”
    “Holy shit.”
    “I know.”

chapter eleven
    I’m Starting to Believe in Destiny
    I’m in the Beverly Center pet store with my gay buddy, Carlos. We just finished our weekly lunch and he’s thinking about buying a dog.
    There are two thirty-something flaming fags next to us also thinking about buying a dog. One of them is holding a baby pug.
    Fag 1 says, “I just don’t know if I should get him. I mean, I’m leaving town for two months. What would I do?”
    Fag 2 says, “I’ll watch him for you.”
    Fag 1