My friend Scott Rahin came over and offered to do the dishes if I spoke to him for a while.
“Okay,” I said. “But you have to be quiet. Mo's working construction and she has to be there by eight.”
He clearly had something to talk about but instead of talking, and instead of doing the dishes, he drank two beers and told me that, in close consultation with his friend Jane, he had developed two new descriptive terms for the vagina.
“The first one is 'cocksocket',” he said.
“That's okay,” I said. “What's the second one?”
“'Eelmouth',” he said.
“That I like.”
“I knew you would, because you're a fishfucker. You got the new Mountain Goats?”
“Sure,” I said.
“I like listening to that guy whine,” he said.
I ran the wire and played the album with volume low. While it played Scott made fun of me—what a whore I was in my little apartment with my health care and whole-wheat bread. And when he was done he rode off on his old bicycle.