There’s a certain kind of man who can smell you a mile away. He’s broken and you smell like glue. You smell like bail money and an empty bed, a Christmas bonus and a mechanic who owes a favor. Like a medicine cabinet and an unlocked door. An open mouth, a full set of teeth, an easy laugh. Warm skin that hasn’t been touched in a long time.
Maybe he’s a musician, or a surfer. Maybe an electrician. Everything you need.