But I also understood that there was no way I would be enticed into going home with a strange man. Growing up with my father as a Homicide Captain had taught me several valuable life lessons.However I did let him take several photographs of me all around the Plaza. He said the best were taken on the pedestrian bridge over Brush Creek. I wish now I’d thought of some way to get copies.Jerry shook hands formally, gave me his card, and thanked me for posing.Years later, I looked him up. He lives in West Hollywood now and specializes in gay fetish photography. Just one of those odd encounters. I have no idea what his interest in me was. I may just look him up if I’m ever out there. I would like to see those childhood photos. Lolita.There is only one axiom I live by. I call it the Winter Jennings Code: Shake with your right hand, but hold a rock in your left.I was rescheduled to join The Globe, this time in Valletta. Which, I had to look it up, is the capital of Malta. Which, I also learned. She was silent for a moment. "That bastard gave me the clap," she said. "Ate my insides. I couldn't give you children no matter what."I kissed the back of her neck. "You're my lover and friend," I said. "Fuck everything else."She leaned back to kiss me, and we fell asleep.My last thought was, God, what I would give to have known her years before.Then sleep took me away.I awakened the next morning to the smell of... ... bacon frying? What the hell? I had not smelled that for years, not since my mother cooked it for me. I never ate anything heavy for breakfast, usually grapefruit and some extracted apple juice.I got out of bed and stumbled into the living room. It was my parents' home, all right. My dad was sitting there reading the morning paper, just as he always did.When he spotted me, he said, "Hey, bud, I was just coming to wake you up."I looked at him blankly, and asked, "What's going on?"He regarded me warily and said, "Nothing's going on. What's going on?"I was silent for a.
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