MACKEREL: Hm.

JOSH: What did I tell you?

MACKEREL: I am G.o.d, aren't I? Weird.

JOSH: Yeah, well, just don't tell anyone. Otherwise, I'll never get laid.

MACKEREL: It smells like every other a.s.s in the world, only much, much better. That's a guess.

JOSH: Well, duh. Being gay is the truth. You ought to try it. Oh, s.h.i.t, I'm going to come.

MACKEREL: Knock yourself out. Oh, s.h.i.t, me too.

Fifteen minutes later, Mackerel's lower legs have started aching, so he's on his hands and knees. Josh has gotten hard again, and alternates between r.i.m.m.i.n.g Mackerel and probing his ethereal a.s.s with a finger.

MACKEREL: Just give me some heroin. What's your problem?

JOSH: You are.

MACKEREL: That's why I don't care if I die. If one more guy does this to me, I'm going to freak. My blood pressure's insane.

JOSH: You should charge.

MACKEREL: I do. Money's not my problem. Beauty is. It's weird. I used to be no one for years.

JOSH: If you can hold out until you're middle-aged, you'll be no one again. You should see my quote-unquote uncle.

MACKEREL: Thanks, but death calls. That sounded more ominous than it feels.

JOSH: I would have paid you a hundred thousand dollars to do this. But I'm h.o.r.n.y, so don't quote me.

MACKEREL: That would have worked.

JosH: I mean I would have if I had it. Maybe my quote-unquote uncle has it. He certainly acts like he's rich. He bought me from the straight world in so many words.

MACKEREL: What do you guys do in bed? Not that I care.

JOSH: This. Only I'm you, and he's every guy who's ever done this to you, if you catch my drift. He also fist f.u.c.ks me. And he pretends to cook me in the fireplace, and then pretends to carve me into steaks and eat them. I guess they're steaks. They're invisible, so how would I know?

MACKEREL: What do you mean by fist f.u.c.k?

Jos H: What do you mean by what do I mean? It's self-explanatory. Why do you care?

MACKEREL: Because it keeps coming up in conversation. Well, not conversation, because I never say anything back. It must be a fad.

JOSH: I love you.

MACKEREL: Yeah, that word keeps coming up too.

JOSH: I want to protect you from the world, and give you give anything you want. I can't believe it.

MACKEREL: Ditto. I mean everyone says that too.

Ten minutes later, josh is finally bored with s.e.x, and the two boys are sitting side by side on some gra.s.s.

JOSH: (mournfully) I'm no one now. I've gone from being you to being whoever.

MACKEREL: I'll be dead in a couple of days, if that helps. Besides, I make everyone depressed. Being G.o.d sucks.

JOSH: Being the ex-G.o.d sucks worse. I should just let my boyfriend eat me. Who cares anymore?

MACKEREL: (impatiently) Tell me more about me. G.o.d commands you.

JOSH: Well, this is more about me than it is about you, but I'll be happy when you're dead and unattractive.

MACKEREL: That's about me.

JOSH: Then there you go.

MACKEREL: You just need to have s.e.x with somebody who'll never ever have me no matter how much they beg. And I know just the guy, unless you're racist. He's from Bin Laden-ville.

JOSH: Like I care. Like who does it to me ever has an ident.i.ty.

MACKEREL: I hear that.

JOSH: Is he cute? Not that I care what guys look like.

MACKEREL: I'm a racist. So you tell me.

JOSH: Bin Laden's cute.

Mackerel grabs his stomach and gags.

MACKEREL: Then he's cute. G.o.d, ugh, that's disgusting. I'm going to throw up.

ABOUT AN HOUR later, Mackerel, Josh, and the aforementioned psychic are sitting in a circle on an old Persian rug in the latter's little storefront. He's just finished reading Josh's tarot cards. Since the psychic is a Middle Easterner, it feels realistic.

JOSH: (to the psychic) Quit staring at my crotch.

PSYCHIC: Crotch smotch.

MACKEREL: (to the psychic) He's freaked out. He needs more heroin.

PSYCHIC: I don't care.

MACKEREL: (to Josh) Reality isn't reality to a psychic. I'm pretending he's a painting.

JOSH: I've never seen a painting. That's like paint on something flat that looks exactly like a picture, right? Like I care.

MACKEREL: Not really. It's better. It's even more real in a weird way. Like Tony Hawk Pro Skater 3 on pause, but more serene.

Josh thinks about that until he seems satisfied.

JOSH: (to the psychic) Okay, we're cool if you can channel my ugly, middle-aged boyfriend. 'Cos he's my problem.

Hearing that, the psychic shuts his eyes, bows his head, and becomes a kind of human speaker phone.

PSYCHIC: (in a gay-sounding voice) The problem is I want to eat you. Literally. But you won't let me.

MACKEREL: (to the psychic) I think my buddy knows that, but he wants to know the reason.

JOSH: When you're on heroin, you can calm down just like this.

He indicates how relaxed his whole body seems all of a sudden.

JOSH: Being a junkie is awesome.

MACKEREL: (to the psychic) Can a thirteen-year-old be gay? I've always wondered.

PSYCHIC: (in a gay-sounding voice) Oh my G.o.d, yes. Just let me eat my boyfriend, and we'll talk.

MACKEREL: (to Josh) Now you ask him something.

Josh sits there thinking angrily for a minute.

JOSH: (to the psychic channeling his boyfriend) Okay, if you eat me, what will happen? I mean on a universal level. I don't mean the temporary things like pain.

PSYCHIC: (in a gay-sounding voice) This is nice. It's like we're going to a couples' counselor.

JOSH: (to Mackerel) See, that's why I love my boyfriend. I need a father.

MACKEREL: Me too. It's weird.

PSYCHIC: (in a gay-sounding voice) If I eat you, your life will have more implications. You won't just be hot and sixteen and a junkie. They'll write a book about you, or two or three books. People will always want to know why some gay guy would eat you.

Josh laughs delightedly.

JOSH: (to Mackerel) That's so him.

Just then the psychic's head lifts and his beady eyes reopen. Mackerel and Josh look at him suspiciously.

PSYCHIC: (dazedly) It's just erased time for me. But I don't care if you believe me or not.

MACKEREL: (to Josh) We'd better pay him and go. I know him. But I'll say no more.

PSYCHIC: (to Josh) Before I moved here from Afghanistan, I saw your a.s.s in a dream.

JOSH: That's ... nice?

The psychic whips his tunic off over his head and tosses it aside. His body is fleshy bordering on obese, but shows signs of having been very well built at one time.

JOSH: Afghanistan is where heroin comes from, right?

PSYCHIC: Yeah, why?

MACKEREL: (to the psychic) He's a junkie. We told you that when you were in that trance. But I'll say no more.

PSYCHIC: You know what's saddest about the world since 9/11? Even sadder than your dead and our dead?

JOSH: If it's not about heroin, I don't care. Well, heroin or my boyfriend. f.u.c.k, I wish I understood why we love, don't you? I mean we humans. I would have been a movie star by now. That was my old goal.

PSYCHIC: You're s.e.xy when you're thoughtful.

JOSH: Pshaw. But that's sweet.

PSYCHIC: You would have been a wh.o.r.e. You'11 be one anyway. That's foretold by that card over there. I just tell it like it is. I can't care about your feelings. You want some heroin? I could use some too.

JOSH: Sure. I don't care about my boyfriend when I'm loaded.

The psychic pulls a packet of yellowy quote-unquote dope out of his discarded tunic.

PSYCHIC: Not to put too fine a point on it, but the thing about the 9/11 bulls.h.i.t? It wasn't Bin Laden. It wasn't even Al Qaeda.

JOSH: I know. It was our hearts.

PSYCHIC: (with irritation) Somebody should murder you.

JOSH: Heroin is murder.

The psychic tosses Josh the quote-unquote dope, then appears to lose his preternatural Islamic-style mystery and cool.

PSYCHIC: (angrily) No, really murder you. I mean as soon as possible. Like now, hint hint. If we were in Afghanistan, everyone would want to murder you. You wouldn't last a day. Your stupid American morality is why we hate you and want to live here and hate living here. But you need psychics.

JOSH: You're good.

PSYCHIC: I'm not that good. I'm just ambitious. But you call that terrorism.

JOSH: You think I don't understand you, but I can. Guys have pulled every kind of c.r.a.p to get my a.s.s. The murder thing is really, really old.

PSYCHIC: Then what did I just say? Either one of you boys feel free to answer because I'd love to know what you think you know.

JOSH: Then read my mind. Or read his mind. Yeah, read his. I already know what I'm thinking.

The psychic glances meaningfully at Mackerel.

PSYCHIC: I can only read the future. And Mackerel doesn't have one. But he and I have been through this already.

JOSH: Okay, then how does his future not happen? If you're so f.u.c.king brilliant.