Thad sat in his car in front of Iggy’s house. It was a sprawling ranch style with well-manicured gardens and an immaculate lawn. In the driveway was a white Lexus convertible. Thad was nervous. He hadn’t slept well. Once again he had been at war with himself: part of him hoping what he imagined Iggy suggested would happen, the more reasoned part knowing that that was an impossibility, and a small part fearing that if it did happen he would go straight to hell. He was just about to give into his fear and anxiety, drive away, and tell Iggy the next time he saw him that he was sorry but that he had come down with some dread disease. He would say he didn’t call because he didn’t have Iggy’s phone number. But just then, Iggy came out of the garage. He was wearing shorts and a black tank top whi
