By A Lost Boy
You might have questioned my state of mind as I pricked my index finger with a lancet, printing my identity onto a foot-long contract in the passenger seat of a man’s car I’d met via Craigslist.
You might have even pitied me upon reading the terms of agreement in question.
But I can assure you… I was sober within this act & without the haze of lust; in possession of every of my facilities.
Until recently, I was the posterchild for privileged. The kind of guy who wears a tie to smart-casual. An Oxford Alumni, willing to kiss whomever ass required to rise up through the ranks… a real piece of shit in hindsight.
I deserved this, my thoughts declared as I peeped over the first edition document towards the driver with a sinister grin; the sinister grin, I had misread as welcoming. A movie star smile with a twist, carved amongst a sea of hedge-cut facial hair.
I remember admiring the man of forty, a sharp nose; an equally as sharp chin under there somewhere. He donned a full-set of salt & peppered hair, cropped with precision.
“Are you certain?” The man said with words unambiguous as I handed over the parchment.