Seattle, Summer 1997

Gregory placed his spindly hand on my nude thigh. Even in the hot tub’s balmy water, his touch felt clammy. Across from us, a couple who’d met hours earlier boffed with the force of a meteor shower. Until now, tonight’s cast party had consisted of soggy nachos, half-emptied kegs and stagehands languidly smoking weed in front of the TV. I’d been the high school art-geek a dozen years prior and feared this evening’s revelry, such as it was, smacked of a senior year movie fest. All we lacked was Pink Floyd’s The Wall on the VCR. So when a cast mate suggested nude hot tubbing out back, I acquiesced. I suppose I just could have gone home, but in my twenties, the simplest solution rarely struck me as the best one.

it is good to stand with a person standing behind your back
to use their arms as your arms
to unzip your pants
as a person standing in front of you
uses your arms as their arms
to unzip their pants
and the person in back rips off the arms
of the person in front
and uses the severed arms as their own severed arms
to unzip their pants.
the wind sucks three pairs of genitals
out of three pairs of unzipped pants
and blows the genitals into a tree.
now your genitals are stuck in a tree
and the person in front of you is bleeding on your shirt.
it is good to stand with a person standing behind your back
to use their arms as your arms
to unbutton your shirt.