<blockquote>I was waiting under a street lamp on the corner outside the Grand Theatre, where I had said I would be waiting. Above people's heads, I could see most of the poster advertising tonight's concert hanging in a frame by the doors. Big, elegant letters spelled the name of the choir and a list of compositions the choir was going to sing. The concert itself made me excited, but I was rather conflicted about everything that was supposed to happen next.
I took out a packet of cigarettes and lit one. A faint cloud of smoke coiled lazily in the air.
I was waiting for my companion. Or, to put it more bluntly, a whore. A male whore.</blockquote>
