Poker Face
It's exhilarating, the way the Lip disappears when he breaks out the mohawk. For one glorious year, he revels in the stares, the glares, the admiration.
And the tattoo.
Moon kisses a trail down the middle of his spine, worshipping each vertebrae. He thrills right through like ice on marbles.
Then it happens.
He's left bereft, shorn as a lamb in winter and abandoned to die. Like a convict with Cain stamped across his brow. Stripped of his armour, his camouflage, he's nothing.
LIP! LIP! LIP! The crowd chants. He looks into Robbie's eyes, and puts on his poker face.