Laurie worked every night.
When the fuck did he rest up, without ever taking a night off? And what did he spend the money on?
I couldn't take the risk of following him during the day, so I couldn't find out if he ran any errands or what they might be.
The temptation to break into his apartment to look for bank statements or a birth certificate, or anything to tell me more about him, hit me every time I walked by his building on my way to lurk in the alley and masochistically watch him get picked up and driven off to be fucked by some stranger.
Watching him come back was worse, sometimes. The bastards usually didn't have the courtesy to drop him off again. Instead, he would trudge back to his spot, shivering in the cold and more tousled than when he'd left, sometimes limping a little.
I was surprised he couldn't hear the grinding of my teeth from down by his streetlight.
