They ring at Patty Myers’s place. It doesn’t ring because the electricity has been shut off. Patty Myers lives on Roundhay Road in Leeds. One-room flat. Sofa rented to a Polish plumber, by whom she became pregnant. Too much vodka one night. Shit happens. Patty has never indulged much in the way of physical interests. She’d had polio. What? Yep, polio is back, and it’s a mutation that isn’t being vaccinated against because generally nothing is vaccinated against anymore, don’t ask. So physically nothing happening, mentally either, her parents had sent her off to a home, because … doesn’t matter. Alongside her basic income, Patty once in a while dabbles in disability snuff. Nothing bad. Little clips for people who are excited by the metal rods she wears. Metal rods like the old days. Cheap. Of course. Patty and the Pole drank and then Patty had sex for the first time, and it was nice, first and foremost nuzzling with another person afterwards was nice, it was warm and not drafty the way it was when constantly alone. Unfortunately the Pole moved on; his name was Sergej and he was very fit. Patty was left behind and pregnant. “Hey, you old whore, did you murder an Englishman?” shouts a fat man, who is well over two hundred pounds and accompanied by three friends who also weigh close to two hundred pounds. They find a new use for the metal rods on Patty’s legs during the course of their visit.

Is something wrong?

Asks

THOME

Sweating. What a poseur. What a bumbling idiot,

Thinks

PETER

And motions Thome over. Thome kneels down in front of the beanbag. Peter closes his eyes and kisses Thome. He tastes just the way he looks. Peter has no idea how to kiss properly, he tolerates the uncomfortably large tongue in his mouth. He has to distract himself in order not to throw up. He thinks of last night, when he pretended to be asleep,

He thinks of

HANNAH

Who is thinking of Peter.