“I’m smoking,” he says, trying to sound like he’s talking to no one in particular. But I’m the only one in earshot of his flimsy little mumble. Then he turns around to face me, flicks the bottom of the pack, knocking a cigarette out of the top. “Smoke?”

I take it. “Why not?”

I don’t really smoke cigarettes. But I can. I follow him outside, not looking at anybody but trying not to look like I’m trying not to look at anybody. Just, you know, ignoring them.

Johnny doesn’t stop on the steps. He keeps going into the tall grass then, through the grass and over to some boulders overgrown with ivy and moss.

I feel invisible. All I can see around me is the black black night and Johnny, Johnny Come Lately with his salt-and-pepper eyebrows, some of the longest ones I’ve ever seen, spiking out above his yellow, bloodshot bear-brown eyes. “I love your eyebrows. They’re really long.”

He looks over his shoulder, just once, quickly, and then plunks his big arms, heavy in his leather jacket, on my shoulders. He moves in fast and plants a longish kiss on my mouth. Then he pulls back to look me in the eye. It feels polite, and there’s something very wrong about that. Everything is wrong, so it fits somehow. I take a breath and tilt my head. His cheek nudges mine. The soft skin of his cheekbone contrasts with the scratch of his stubble. I lean in and let my weight fall against him. Johnny’s big body is this perfect soft-firm curve, solid and round. It’s comfortable and comforting and I find myself wondering if this is what it’s like to have a grandfather. That’s not what I mean . . . The most fucked-up thoughts always pop into my head at the worst fucking moments, and this one makes me lose my kissing rhythm and something feels funny against my tongue. And then I realize what it is and I cough a little laugh into Johnny’s mouth.

“Do you wear dentures?”

Johnny nods an earnest nod.

“They look really natural.” And we go right back into kissing, but only for another minute because a bell rings. Not the chapel bell. I don’t recognize it.

“Closing time. Come on.”

No, this is all wrong. Something from the Bad Place has made its way into my night and I can’t look at him now.

Rose and Gretchen are leaning on the steps. I think they’re watching pretty closely when Johnny and I appear from the other side of a big rock and walk back up to the tavern together. Paranoia and liquor bring a bit of scratchy warm puke up my throat.

Rose is holding a joint. “Got a light, big guy?”