“Only thing worse than a faggot is a stool,” Cuddles says.

“A stool faggot,” goes Maxie.

“So you told them, huh? You probably told them about the herb, too. You must have told them everything,” says Lou.

“I signed, goddammit! I signed my fucking name. Yeah, I told them. You guys never saw that guy Metro. You never looked back. You never heard the sound of leaves falling red or curling up dry on the goddamn ground. Don’t give me none of that stale shit.”

“You yellow, Lonny.”

“But who was fucking him, Max? Who was fucking him?”

“Shit.”

“Yeah, a great, big, stool faggot.”

“If I’m a stool then what are you? All of you?”

But they wouldn’t let up. They got in close. I called the guard over and he acted like he didn’t hear me. He didn’t move from the door. The rooms was close and hot and they was crowding in on me. The guard watching away from us, watching the outside. Cuddles’s fist came first. I swung back. Caught Lou and swung again. But Maxie had me then. He had me from behind. Fists dancing on me. I couldn’t feel my teeth anymore.

“You ain’t gonna fuck with me!” I yelled.

The guard finally came over. “Cut that shit out,” he said. “Cut it out.”

But Maxie held tighter. The guard looked away. I couldn’t move my hands. Cuddles and Lou at my face again until my eyes closed on red and my throat got tight with spit and acid coming up from my belly. I tasted blood. I ate it. And it was mine. Mine.

I couldn’t open my eyes for two days. I could hardly eat. They had me go to the infirmary for a few hours. Then sent me back the day I had a visitor. Someone I wasn’t planning on seeing ever again. Moms. She was there with my sister Patty. I didn’t want to see them. Not the way I was looking. I could barely walk to my place behind the glass booth when, suddenly, she saw me and wouldn’t keep her mouth shut from screaming. Her screams were metal, metal on metal, knives on knives. I held my head. I couldn’t say nothing, ’cause my mouth was still purple and fat and would let only air come through, and even that hurt. But she kept yelling at me, making my head hurt worse. “Look, Moms,” I said to myself and to her silently through a swollen mouth, hoping she could hear me somehow, even if the words never came. “I’m doing it. I’m taking my chance.”

“My boy! Christ Jesus. Look what they done to my boy.”