Ever since we first got to know each other through our various addictions, Simone has become a fixture in my life. Drag performer by night and cyber security expert also possibly by night (no one who’s ever met her seems to know what she does with her days), she is my one constant in this whole city.

She’s right. I should have called her a long time ago.

The temperature is dropping by the minute. I shut the balcony door, turn on the heat, and curl up on Leo’s couch. I’ve taken Leo’s work computer and now put on some Aretha Franklin because it makes me think of Detroit, Nate, and his famous soul singer of an aunt. The depression and guilt hit me almost immediately. I know he’s still alive and recovering at home. But I’m not sure I can reach out to him. I wouldn’t know what to say. Sorry you almost died because of me doesn’t quite cut it. This guy has a vendetta against me, see. Tell me, what do you know about triads?

I could also tell him how good our song sounds on the radio, but is a hit record worth it if it comes at the price of his health?

As I watch the sun drop out of sight, my thoughts turn from Nate (who I can’t help) to Brazuca (who I might not want to). I think it must have something to do with the fact that Brazuca seems to be having such a hard time getting a grip. But that’s ridiculous. I’m not the center of the universe, after all. He must have problems of his own. And now he is trying to avoid dealing with his own shit by taking on my burdens, too.

Well, that’s unfair.

I don’t want to be responsible for the downward spiral of his life. Which is why, several hours later, I go out without him.

I know where Nolan works. Brazuca must have forgotten that I’ve spent the past several years looking for people that others have misplaced or temporarily forgotten. It was almost too easy for me to locate the name of the club from some of Nolan’s online posts. And Granville Street isn’t too far away.

But first, I have some pole dancing to take in.

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