In a murky San Francisco basement a young man sits alone, his name is Denny, and he is masturbating. He is masturbating frantically over the washing machine, spinning, wet and humming. Denny doesn't touch the washing machine. He just likes to watch. At the point of terrific orgasm Denny's head rolls back and his eyes point to his nose, in a faint breath he mutters a word, a cried whisper; Johnny….

It has been four agonising days since Johnny died in a tragic suicide accident and Denny is still lamenting the loss of his father, brother, friend sort of thing. Denny's usual alacrity has been replaced by a spiralling depression which is slowly eating away at him. As he sits in the sordid basement which had now become his home he had two thoughts, first, that it had been a whole 14 seconds since he touched himself. Second, was that he missed the sight of Johnny's fruit bowl. He stared glassily at the spoon picture he kept on the wall. To say that Lisa had behaved egregiously would be an understatement, but nobody had blamed her for the way she behaved, after all, her mother does have breast cancer and business was unusually busy. She had been under a lot of stress so nobody blamed her for Johnny's suicide accident. With the exception of Denny, that is.

You see, on that fateful day Denny had been peering through the peephole he had drilled into their bedroom. He had heard Lisa making loud noises and usually that could only mean one thing-she was riding all fourteen inches of Johnny's heat. However what he witnessed on that frightful afternoon was a sight more ghastly than he could have ever believed, something which shocked him to his very core. Lisa, jealous of Johnny giving so much attention to the much more handsome Denny, had used her psychic powers to throw Johnny violently across the room and put a bullet through the back of his head. At least, that's how Denny had seen it; and he was usually right about these things.

Denny smacked his fist into the concrete pillar next to him, his herculean strength nearly bringing down the building. He started to weep a river of cold salty tears. From upstairs the sound of Lisa greeting a gentlemen caller fuelled his despair even further. Then, at this, his lowest point, a miracle transpired. A football came rolling out of the shadows, Johnny's football. He could tell because the ball was scarred with Denny's teeth marks (He thought it was a predator and was protecting Johnny)

"What is this doing down here?" Denny said aloud, hoping his mysterious guest would reveal himself.

"If a lawt of people love each over…." Whispered the shadows

"Then the world would be a better place!" Cried Denny, who was now fully erect.

A smirking and familiar face stepped out of the shadows and into the dim basement lights, but his ethereal presence made them seem like the lights of heaven. Johnny was back!