I lived in an activist compound set in Olympia, only it was surrounded by sand, making it feel like a desert. Our house had statues of safari men holding shotguns on the roof of the house to scare away potential attackers.
Stephen had a framed photo of a women on the windowsill above the sink. I was intensely jealous of her. I told him it was sexist for him to have it there, since it was a photo of her in very short denim shorts, and she had a very ample ass. She was turning to look at the photographer, and her blonde hair, nearly shaved, glinted in the sun. He didn't take down the photo.
Pat and I were going to take a walk. As we walked around one side of the house, it became the sidewalk next to my mother's house. He told me he had a bad knee. I asked why, and he told me it was because he had followed a dog home the night before.
