Igor and Maksim must have thought I was an idiot. It was the only explanation I could come up with to justify Gladys’ arrival at the L stop as I stood waiting for the train with Ig, Maks, and their respective girlfriends. The assholes had been angling to match me with Millie and Ingrid’s friend for months, thinking a future full of triple dates was an appealing prospect rather than the nightmare I found it be. Unsurprisingly, I had shut down their propositions, and they had respected my wishes, until the day we planned to visit the World’s Fair.

I hadn’t particularly wanted to go, finding the theme, “A Century of Progress,” unbearably ironic given that the country was hooked to a backsliding pulley and slipping further into the abyss by the day. Progress. It was laughable, yet I found no humor in it. America prided herself on innovation, but she was only as good as her ability to flourish or even to sustain, and she currently exhibited the capacity to do neither.

As the train clanked over the tracks, carrying us toward our destination, I tried my damndest to avoid all discourse with the dame on my left and the saps behind me, though they all had attempted to engage. I regretted agreeing to join Maks and Iggy on the excursion, but I’d been trying to get out of the apartment more during the day. I needed to find ways to pass time so it didn’t crawl as I anticipated evenings with him. Over the past few months, my nights with Cal had become more frequent, both of us indulging our hearty appetites for sex and each other. It had gotten easier for me to let my regulations on our time together go once Cal let go of Abraham. Things with Abe and I were as companionable as they had been prior to me poaching his Peach. Though I was sure he knew there was something going on between Cal and me, we never discussed it. Still, he saw me in The Studio so often he offered me a bed. I didn’t tell him I already had one.

“What are you thinking about?” Gladys inquired. I hadn’t realized what an invasive question it was until that very moment and promptly flipped through the catalogue of conversations I’d had with Cal, trying to recall if I’d asked him what was on his mind. There was no doubt I had. How could anyone think they had the right to trespass in another’s mind? That they could create a footpath in the folds of someone’s cerebrum? It was jarring and compelled me to make a crass comment:

“Dysentery.”

“Excuse me?” she asked, so aghast that it was nearly comical.

I heard Millie whisper “why is he like this?” to Igor, but I chose not to acknowledge it, instead hoping it would cement my status as do-not-invite-again.