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laughter. I heard someone clap.
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œTake your finger off the intercom button.”
    I took my finger off it. “I thought it was a one, not an I .”
    â€œ I is for intercom. How long have you worked here?”
    â€œI was born in fiction and raised in science fiction.”
    â€œI’ll be down in a second to cover for you.”
    Afterwards I stood frozen in front of the toilet, trying to figure out what to do. The toilet had problems flushing toilet tissue, and I had taken the biggest dump I had ever seen. I was simultaneously embarrassed it came out of me and fascinated by how weird my body could be. If only I could cut it up into pieces to make it easier for the toilet to, like, digest it. I looked around the toilet for something I could MacGyver together. There was a generic air freshener that made the shit smell worse by layering a waft of mint on top, sort of like how it’s somehow dirtier to wear crotchless panties than to just be naked. I took the toilet brush and stabbed the shit. I ended up getting shit all over the brush and splashing some of the shitty water onto my sleeve. I was scared that if I kept at it I would end up with shit water on my face and spend the rest of my life scrubbing my face off. I put the shitty brush behind the toilet. No one would know it was me. People see shit, and they think of dudes.
    â€œDon’t tell anyone about the intercom,” I said.
    â€œI wouldn’t, Maya. C’mon,” Mark said. Mark was rail thin. He was Chinese American. Generations of his family had lived inCalifornia. There was a hint of surfer dude accent in his voice. He was so small. Whenever I imagined myself doing him, I thought of a fat brown cow sitting on a beautiful little dove.
    â€œI don’t feel well.” My neck was sweating.
    â€œIf you want to go in half an hour, I don’t mind closing without you.”
    â€œMark, you’re too good to me.”
    â€œI’m too nice. That’s why I don’t have a girlfriend.”
    â€œNo, that’s not it. It’s your clothes. Oh, and your personality and face.”
    â€œRight. I forgot about those things.”
    â€œActually, you have a nice face.”
    Awkward silence.
    â€œThanks, Maya.”
    â€œI mean, not for me, but for, like, the world or whatever.”
    â€œYeah, I know what you mean.” He smiled. He was so sweet. I was a tease.
    Mark went back upstairs, and I was alone. No one came downstairs after about seven or so. Only nonfiction and plays were downstairs. I picked up Fun Home , this graphic novel I was reading, but my eyes kept tearing up.
    My head was buzzing, and I felt dizzy. I thought of fucking Ogden to distract myself.
    I thought of how I was going to say, “Yeah, fuck me, Daddy,” as he pounded me from behind.
    I thought of how when he fucked me missionary, he pulled down the cups of my bra so my tits spilled out.
    For an old dude, Ogden had a nice body. He was thin but muscular. He had a few white hairs on his chest and belly. He was tall. Whenhe was fucking me on the edge of the bed, I liked putting my hand out and feeling his stomach. I liked how it was hard and fuzzy, and how there was no fat there. You couldn’t tell he was old till you scanned back up and looked at his face. Or his ass. He had an old, droopy, sad ass. Most men have sad asses, but Peter didn’t. Peter had a robust, taut booty that stuck out. I didn’t understand why women liked men’s butts, like how they showed women checking them out in movies.
    One time Ogden fingered my ass as he fucked my mouth. I was on all fours on the bed, and he was standing. I pulled back too far, and his cock fell out of my mouth. “C’mon,” he said, and put his cock back into my mouth. I liked feeling like a thing.
    I liked feeling like nothing.
    There was more nothing in a woman. There was the asshole, pussy, and mouth. But you could also store a baby in the