He mumbled these words into the lip of his tumbler, over and over again. I'm unsure if he was speaking to me or the vodka. Whether or not he listened to the same music as I did and if I was supposed to respond to the reference distracted me for a while.

He was twenty-seven at the time. He was going by the name of Jacob. Everyone knew it wasn't his real name, but they also knew enough to not ask questions.

Plenty of faceless guys blew through. It wasn't unusual. He was entirely unremarkable in appearance; he had soft hair, soft eyes, and he dressed sharply, which I suppose was unusual in its way, but I never would've remembered him for his looks alone. He was one of the boys you couldn't help but loving a little when you first laid eyes on them. You know how that turns out.

I lowered the tumbler from his mouth. He wasn't even really drunk at any rate. I felt the deepest of sympathies for him. He had ended up in the same predicament I was getting out of. I loved him in the way you can only love yourself.

A lot of people seem to end up in this predicament. It's hard to blame someone for falling into it. The only thing that really made him seem different from the other notches on the bedpost was that he was as gay as any summer day. Still and all, he ended up stuck in her web with the rest of us. Poor bastard was in shock.

He did the only thing he could do. He moved on. He got the hell out of Dodge. Everyone always thought I slept with him. I simply tried to expose him to the ruin that was waiting for him if he followed the path.

He did the only thing he could do.

I think he truly believed what he was confiding to his cup. God knows why. I suppose he was just the sort of person to believe that we shall all be healed, when our time comes, and it'd all be okay in the end.

He did the only thing he could.

Oh, I eventually found out his real name was Mark.

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