He tells me he likes nachos while we sit in front of his living room TV,
lights dimmed. his dog has shed relentlessly on this couch.
I’m feeling dizzy, because I’m pretty sure that cheese was growing mold and I remind myself that
this is the 4th boy this summer (it’s only July), and he’s holding my hand.

it’s not so comfortable. in fact I realize I really don’t want to watch this movie about chemotherapy and space aliens (willing to bet he’s run the same one for every girl) at all. for a moment I forget where I am,

and I ask him if his name is Mitchell.
It’s Rafe, he says, ¼ laughing, ¼ wondering why he invited me over, half imagining what he could do to me.
what a ****** name, I think to myself, and I throw the scratchy blanket off me in his too air-conditioned apartment,
much more breathable.
I open the door. sorry Mitch, my mom told me to be home by... (squint at my watch in the darkness)
he stands up and knocks over my untouched Pepsi, probably spiked, saying it’s pretty early, are you sure? and the name’s –

(door shuts). bye, Mitch.