“Hey, you,” he says, and gives me a grin that I know doesn’t represent anything terribly witty or wry.

A slow nausea forms in the pit of my stomach. The better part of me tells me to smile, apologize and walk back down the street as fast as I can. I should go, but I never do.

“Hi.”

He pulls the door open wider. “You look like you need a good, hard fuck.” The tone is casual, like anyone else might say: ‘you look like you got caught in the rain,’ or ‘you look cold.’

I’m drawn to this story because it is dripping with atmosphere, emotion, and just that inescapable feeling of being right there. It’s near, and almost painfully so.

And of course, I’m a sucker for being read to.