Things irrevocably changed the night of the Wolfe dinner party.
Tad and I were drunk, lying in bed. I was processing what I’d seen that night at the leather bar, the men dressed as dogs. Tad was drifting in and out of sleep, muttering. I’d seen him pop a small crimson pill. I was wide awake.
I could see the night sky, like a clean slate blackboard through my bedroom window. Across the way, a large, flapping piece of construction plastic tacked to the side of a brick building fluttered with the wind. Tad opened his eyes.
“Look at that thing’s wings,” he said dreamily.
He shut his eyes before I could ask him what he meant. The building’s wall was being repaired. I could not see past the long sheath of graying plastic, could not see what damage it hid. There was a light shining on the pla
