...you get the idea that if you've seen a James Dean film and read enough Salinger, you know how things will end. But you watch anyway because the actor on screen is beautiful & damaged and this is really the first day you've had off in weeks. You give in to his demand for attention, hanging on to his face and every lithe movement he makes (do people, handsome people, really choreograph their moves like that?) because if you let go, fear will flood your body, your skin will burn with the dread of tomorrow and your heart will start pounding for all the wrong reasons.
Then he walks into an Indian restaurant in Manhattan and you smile distractedly as he orders a Kingfisher.
