And it wasn’t like we were friends-friends, but when he came to the back door I asked him the secret password. He said YOU WILL BURST INTO FLAMES UPON REENTERING THE EARTH’S ATMOSPHERE. His voice, a small fire. And the thing is, there was no secret password. He’d been with a lot of girls – probably in vans and on cold basement floors. In drooping green tents slick with summer rain. He told me I tasted like black coffee and kiwi.