When I got home, Edgar Allan Poe and I had a conversation. POE: ‘You, Sir, are in the process of losing this fucking bet.’ ME: ‘I know, I know. ...ut what am I supposed to do?’ POE: ‘Any imbecile could determine the proper course of action. You knock boots with the delectable Beth, and then turn your attention to Mrs Emily. May I suggest that you use bridge as your conversational gambit. She seems to be somewhat of a student of the game.’ ME: ‘She’s married. And if I slept with Beth, I could say. In our kitchen we had tall stools at the breakfast table and I sat on one of those not thinking about anything really and differently not about sex, I was facing the back door and saw dad coming up the garden path, there was no need for me to feel uncomfortable even if I had been sitting here stark naked in front of my dad would have been alright because we were all used to being that way with each other, dad came in and I noticed him look at my lap, he had no top on and an old pair of trousers. More

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