5

If you’ve run into a restroom and left the door flung wide open; pulled down your pajama pants and boxer shorts with a single tug and sit to avoid the trials of aiming; released, withheld, and released again; pulled up your shorts again but too soon (underestimating the duration and/or volume of the post-release dribble); accidentally dabbed the cloth of your shorts with little blots of urine from your shriveled member; walked the room over and replaced your damp shorts with a dry pair: this is a mark of privilege.

6

At every open window I confront I immediately, if briefly, imagine the consequences of jumping out right there and then and swiftly conclude, “That’d be fucked up.”

7

Due to an error in anatomical strategy my blood veers sharply southward off the aorta and I find myself engorged in semi-erection while a baby sits on my lap. Her parents look on unknowing as I twiddle her tiny toes and feign a smile but inside I despair, and a drop of sweat drips onto my brain from the roof of my skull.

8

When you visit I might still have some strange red dots on my inner thighs. I am not diseased! I just misguidedly attempted to shave some errant hairs there; I know now not to.