A Man and His Boy, Chapter 3

He paid for a cab all the way from the goddamned Eagle to Washington Heights. That’s like $35. The equivalent of fourteen subway fares. Who the fuck has that kind of money?

We chatted a little bit while cruising up the West Side Highway; of course, the entire time he was squeezing my thighs and rubbing my indefatigable boner, so rational conversation was a challenge for me. Thomas said he worked in finance, way downtown. So why did he choose to live on the absolute opposite end of the island? “To get as far away from those greedy fucks and their insane parasite bullshit as geographically possible. Nah, I moved there when I graduated college and it was cheap. It’s not too bad, the ‘A’ train takes me all the way to work real quick ‘cause it’s express during the day.” He looked out the window and whistled a few bars of “Take the ‘A’ Train.”

When we got up to his place, he went to the fridge and grabbed two beers. He opened both and handed me one. “You’re wearing too many clothes, boy.”