I feel a complete mix of emotions: absolute shame, excitement, exhaustion, horniness. But as I look at him, I smile back.“Tell me the truth, anyone ...oing to miss ya?”I think of my life and how I’ve pushed everyone away. “No” I say.“Well, come on then”I get up and try to walk, but my legs are shaky. I grab the wall for support. I move towards the original booth, where my clothes are, but he interrupts, “You ain’t gonna need any of that anymore”“But, my cloth–” I begin to say.“Look, you fuckin’. Jimmy would yell “Ma! Axle is here!” or something along those lines at her. But she’d just blow him off, but every once I a while she’d give me this look. I used to think it was the “I know what you're up to” look.Axle was my nickname. Mrs. T dubbed me that one night, after a crazy block party. My dad was a little drunk, and slurred out that I could be a little asshole at times. But when he said it, all anyone heard was, little Axle. So Mrs. T took to it, calling me Axle ever since. It seemed. More

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