“What do you do for a crust?” the old man asked Tim.
Confused by the question, his stomach rumbling at the mention of something that might be food, Tim realized he was being asked about his livelihood. Grateful for the shadow of the underpass that hid his blush, the thought of countless anonymous men came unbidden to his mind. Searching benighted parks for someone to service their cocks outside the illusion of their normal lives, they found Tim, who needed money more than love or honesty. Tim, who now felt the bruises and stains left on him by their self-hatred more than he felt the cold or hunger. Better to stay under the overpass than try to find something new, to head out into the world where he saw shame reflected in the passing faces of every man he wanted to touch.
Blinking tears away he replied, “Oh, you know, this and that.”