Michael’s offhanded, “I love you too, hon,” accompanied by a pert kiss, left Bill thrilled but uncertain. His confusion turned to anger when Michael refused to stop seeing Dennis.

“You’re my boyfriend now,” Bill told him as they lay naked on the fold-out couch.

“Yeah, sure, but,” Michael scrunched his nose, “Dennis pays my rent.”

“He what?” Bill said, angrily.

“Oh, papi, don’t be pissed. I make shit working at that burrito place and I’m trying to save up to go to beauty school. Dennis helps me out, that’s all.”

“He gives you money to have sex with him.”

“Well,” Michael replied, annoyed, “when you say it like that, you make me sound like a whore.”

“Isn’t that what you are if someone pays you for sex?”

“Fuck you.” Michael jumped out of bed and pulled on his clothes. “You think I want to spend my life in shitholes like this with losers like you? Hell, no.” He finished dressing and, hands on his hips, declared, “You’re cute and a good lay, but I’m looking for someone to take care of me.”

“I can take care of you,” Bill insisted angrily.

“Grow up, Billy. You can barely take care of yourself.” And with that, he flounced out of the apartment.

In tears, he related the argument to Waldo, who told him, “Don’t cry, hon. She’ll cool down and be back in your bed in no time.”

“What about that Dennis guy giving him money for sex? That’s wrong.”

Waldo lifted a pale eyebrow. “I wouldn’t be so quick to judge. We do what we have to survive.”

“Like what, being a whore?” Bill replied bitterly.

Waldo shook his head. “Jeez, you can take the boy out of the sticks but you can’t take the sticks out of the boy.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Bill snapped.

“I mean,” Waldo replied pointedly, “we ain’t living in your little white fence fantasy world where if you fuck somebody you own them. That’s for boys and girls. Boys and boys play by different rules. You really need to get out more, doll.”

Waldo’s response left him feeling more alone than he had since stepping off the Greyhound. The gratitude and relief he had felt at stumbling into this world of men like himself had, through familiarity, begun to wear off. He had begun to notice how rootless his friends were, how improvised their lives. They drifted from little job to little job, from one ratty apartment to the next, from one dark bar to another and from bed to bed with partners whose names, if they knew them at all, they quickly forgot.