Markel’s Fine Collectibles, their business during the day – at nighttime it became jigsaw puzzles. Tonight Mark and Michael were staring the Golden Gate Bridge.
“Three scenes, all horizontal shots,” Mark told Michael on the way home in their Jeep Wagoneer. Michael frequently asked why they didn’t get a new car, but Mark just tossed his head and told him, it’s my jaded jalopy, don’t make me give ‘er up.
“Hope they’re different. Nothing’s worse than a jigsaw where every pieces is the same color. Remember that one in Antarctica?”
“Kinda, sorta, maybe,” Mark sniffed. He didn’t think that one was so hard. After all, the icebergs, seals, clouds, and blue sky were all different, weren’t they? And they solved it in less than three weeks.
“Ugh, not another three weeks,” Michael said. How’d he do that, Mark thought, read my mind? Like we had these telekinetic powers. But he couldn’t really read his mind, could he? Mark put a silly thought in his head: let’s fuck vultures on our next trip to Florida.
“What’s up for dinner tonight? I’d love to have that yellowtail you bought yesterday,” Michael said, and smiled that way that massaged Mark’s heart. “While it’s still fresh, honey bun.”
There was a God, after all. That meant Michael didn’t know about Mark’s little dalliance with Vadim the ballet dancer. Good, because it didn’t matter. It was only sex, wasn’t it? Well, wasn’t it?
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