Mom asked me what the ice was for. I told her I’d been at the gym and that my hands hurt. That didn’t surprise her at all. She’s going to see my cheek, though, if it bruises. And so will Roger, at tomorrow’s appointment. It’s not like I came out looking as bad as the fake Jamaican, though. He was so messed up, I’m checking my window for the cops every five minutes. The Internet helps me forget. Some guys watch music videos. Some guys watch porn. I watch circus videos because I really think I’m going to do it. I really think Joe Jr. is wrong about how great I have it. He doesn’t live in a cage, you know? As I play the same trapeze video over and over and stare at the monitor, I try to will myself into Gersday, with no luck. It’s as if Gersday has been hacked and someone changed my password. The trapeze artists are like magic. It’s a circus in Monaco, where no one has heard of the Crapper. These three Asian women and three Asian men do this act. It’s like nothing I’ve ever seen in my life—so many spins and twists, and then they manage to catch each other in midair.
