Chapter Thirty-Eight
Halfway through the New York Times, the apartment doorbell rings. It can only be an internal visit, not having been alerted to a visitor by the security desk.
A tenant in need of emergency toilet cleaning?
I arise to respond. Pulling open the door, it’s Theresa. She is imposing in her uniform, as stated a very large and muscular woman of color.
“A package. Came yesterday but you appeared busy directing Jack on a leash,” she hands me a thick padded envelope. I know it to contain a replenishment of Jack’s testosterone.
“Thank you, Theresa.”
“You fixing something in the kitchen?” she inquires apparently hearing the buzz of Jack’s vibrator.
“No, I’m milking Jack. I’m a little worn pulling him about the city last night so I’ve dispensed with the usual manual effort.
