He stared at himself in the mirror – a comfortable black tshirt, brand new blue jeans and engineer’s boots with an obvious history. He clipped on his keys and headed down the block. The heat of a summer night made him make the familiar stroll to the bar. He could remember getting leathered up and meeting the boys. He would smile walking by the dark corners he’d made love to a man in the early hours. the first time he’d been called Boy. the first time he’d been called Daddy. The freedom. The abandon. All of them ghosts now. He tipped the bartender, a pretty tattooed boy who wasn’t born the first time he came in the place. The fog from the cigar smokers out on the patio mixed with the humid smell of the rain making the Odouls thick to drink.