It’s just that the week was...”“Hey,” he said. “You don’t need to explain. Tomorrow is fine. Morning love is better. Even better, I mean.�...� They settled into the spoon, and he hugged her while she took the longest time to get to sleep. He had used a euphemism; this was love. She woke enough to feel him tucking the afghan around her, then dropped back into sleep. She felt much better in the morning.“Toast?” George offered when she had had her bathroom time.“Mmm, butter,” she said when she tasted. Hastily I retrieved a towel to dry myself and the urine from the mat.From there, the party blurred—whether from the weed, or beer, or lack of nourishment, or merely from the aberrant thrill of being a participant in such decadent behaviour—I cannot tell.For the next 36 hours I fucked and got fucked by guys at least as debauched as I. It became obvious, as time went by, from casual conversations and off-the-cuff remarks—I was in good company—with men as hell-bent on self-annihilation as. More

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