Then, ‘just now,’ he’s looked at me on Scruff. Then, while I pound nails into the fallen trim on my dad's screened porch, I fantasize about which minimal twink or otter I’ll be pounding later on in the afternoon. While I’m insulating some of the pipes in his basement, my own pipe is tenting my shorts, all set to spurt. I’m in my lodge room for a pair of hours. By mid-afternoon I’m back again at my hotel space.