The Sex Was Great But... Read Online Free PDF Page A

pass, and try and summon the nerve to do what Kev expects of me, but my embarrassment defeats me.
    Normally Kev goes on the crack on Melrose, where a younger crowd can usually be relied upon to bestow a few bucks on him, but he clearly can’t be bothered trekking off to Melrose without a beer to fortify him.
    I pull my ridiculous hat off and fan myself with it to cool down. Kev points at me, as if to say he’ll come and jam it on my head if I don’t start hassling the passersby, so I put it back on, hide my face in the big woolen scarf, and try and tell myself no one will recognize me. The only compensation is that after I sort out my passport and ticket I’ll be out of here and never have to face these people again.
    Kev’s got a point, wearing these get-ups when it’s ten thousand degrees in the sun gets the punters thinking, all right, and within an hour we have enough for a coffee—thanks to the sympathetic local shopkeepers, for the most part. Naturally Kev says bollocks to coffee and hits the liquor store.
    â€œHere, get this down yer,” he urges, passing me a can of beer on his return.
    â€œShit, Kev, we agreed coffee first.”
    â€œNo man, you fuck off! I just agreed to that to stop you whining and you know it. Emotional blackmail, innit? No, dead straight, Leo. I’m taking a stand with you on this one!”
    â€œYou’re taking a stand with me? ” I ask—my voice lacedwith a fair degree of acid sarcasm. Kev is always taking stands. I figured it’s something he picked up in the Seattle riots.
    â€œYeah. Too right I am. Enough is e-fucking-nuff,” he jeers, as he jabs his finger in my chest. “You’re always pulling this shit on me! Well, this time the worm is for the fucking turning!”
    When he talks like this I just switch off.
    â€œWhatever,” I say, turning my back on him and taking a slug of the beer, thinking to myself it will at least be cold and wet. But it isn’t cold and wet. It’s warm and slimy and tastes horrible and I spit it out on the road.
    â€œHey, you lunatic. Don’t waste that!”
    â€œIt’s warm, you idiot.”
    â€œYeah, well, cold beer in the morning fucks your guts, man. You should know that.”
    I give him a withering look.
    â€œI was just thinking of you, see. Thought you’d like it warm anyway—more like coffee that way, innit?”
    I don’t reply. I am really pissed off with him, but I know it’s pointless arguing. When Kev is taking one of his stands it’s better to just nod and go with the flow.
    The only other person I know who speaks about taking stands is my mum. Hers are political stands mostly, against wars or governments, multinational conglomerates or our local council. Standing here now, in the L.A. heat, in Kev’s hat and gloves, I wonder how my mum will feel about the way I’ve turned out. After all the stands she’s taken on my behalf here I am, age twenty-six, taking a stand on Vermont Avenue in L.A., trying to make passersby think so they’ll give me their spare change.
    The lack of sleep, the heat and the warm lager have conspired to give me the mother of all headaches. I pass the beer back to Kev. He shakes his head like I’m some kind of hard case he’s done all he can for. Then he sculls the contents in one, squeezes the can into a tight ball in his fist and heads it into the bin.
    Kev respects the laws of litter disposal more than anyone else I’ve ever met. I guess because he gets his dinner out of a bin a lot of the time. He goes ape if I stick an empty can in the rubbish without scrunching it up first. Says it gives guys like him false hopes.
    I’ve never thought about guys like Kev before, or their hopes. It makes me realize how lucky I’ve had it. Having a mum like mine, who not only didn’t make me beg but put a roof over my head, fed me, and even made me soup and let me have the telly in