Evan Tumbles
This is the beginning to my lover’s end.
* * * *
Evan and I smoke pot together on the roof that overlooks the city. We sit side by side in Goodwill lawn chairs, inhale the drug, let it settle into our bodies, and relax.
Evan Spire has cancer; I know this. Does he honestly think I don’t know? I can tell he’s sluggish lately, and the protrusion at the nape of his back is beginning to grow larger; a bump he nonchalantly calls “a bruise.”
I love him. Who couldn’t love the poet? Evan looks like a young version of George Clooney, is sexy as hell, but can’t act worth a s**t. Never does he fool me with his lies regarding his cancer. I know him too well, his best friend, his lover for the last year, the guy he calls Teddy Bear on rainy days in April.
* * * *
He doesn’t have insu
