The window was open. He was naked, except for dirty torn blue jeans. He was looking out the window and his hands were on the windowsill. His back was facing me. The sheets were white and I could smell clover. The autumn breeze blew in. I blew a smoke ring and he laughed at something. The neighbors were hammering and a car peeled out below. He turned around to face me and sat on the window ledge.
Vegas, he said.
Vegas. I smiled.