Chapter 8 – Euterpe (music)
Nothing attractive about a loose moral
And nothing attractive about a boy who becomes one
"You don't have to sleep with people just because they offer themselves to you, Roger." I had told him.
He shrugged. "I need that connection sometimes."
"Why don't you try to meet someone new instead of sleeping with your groupies?"
"You don't understand." Silently I hear, 'you never have'.
"They're cold, they're impersonal, but they're there, Mark. They let me touch them and smell their hair and if I let them they stay with me until morning and I can pretend that I have someone there to fall asleep with."
I had rolled my eyes and started to walk away.
"I don't have anyone, Mark! You don't know what that feels like!"
I had turned fast and glared at him.
"I have as many people as you do, Roger! You know who that is at this point? It's you and me." He backed up and looked down at the floor. "And you're dying."
His eyes were so pained when he looked up again that I wanted to take it back, but I didn't.
When people are numbers and numbers are names
Nightly holocaust of cheap sex
"I'm glad you came to the show tonight," Film Roger says. "I didn't think you would."
"I didn't want you to feel alone."
He smiles awkwardly. "Thank you."
I reposition the camera and hold out my arm. "You can come home with me tonight, Rog. Please."
"Wait, I need my guitar. I can't go without my guitar."
He could go to Santa Fe without his guitar, but he couldn't come home.