The delivery boy agreed to stay when he saw I had pot. There was a public access film on the TV. I let him smoke and sit in the good chair. He leaned back, turned his hat around so the bill faced forward, and tucked his arms behind his head.

"Won't you get fired?" I asked.

"I can say my car broke down."

I knelt in front of him and unbuttoned his pants.

"Is this okay?" I asked.

"It's okay."

The delivery boy watched the public access film. I pulled his pants down around his ankles. I saw the outline of his dick in his gray boxer briefs. His dick was exactly the size a delivery boy's should be. I pressed my cheek against his thigh and put his hands on my face. The light from the TV turned him green. I looked up at him and was glad to not be alone.

When the delivery boy had finished and the public access film was over, a pastor was on TV giving a sermon. "Good news is coming," the pastor said, pointing to the pages of his Bible. The delivery boy headed for the door.

At the door, I said, "Wait, or you won't hear the good news."

"The good news is that good news is coming," he said. "That's it." He lifted his hat and scratched the back of his head. "Cool," he said. "I guess I'll see you later." For a moment, we stood on opposite sides of the door, smiling, and it was like we were starting over. Then he turned and walked away, waving the back of his hand as if at someone else.


.

Jacob Guajardo has fiction in a number of places, including Hobart, Necessary Fiction, Passages North, and the current volume of BEST AMERICAN SHORT STORIES.

Detail of collage on main page courtesy of Joana Coccarelli.





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