City and hates everything about this place except its strange meat and the proximity to New Orleans. I told her that my brothers used to hunt raccoons but they didn't eat them—they gave them away to black people. She said that was racist, but it's just the truth, that's what they did, and I don't really see how it's racist. Perhaps just something I shouldn't have mentioned.

I frequently feel compelled to confirm her worst suspicions of us because she's always saying it's too humid here and there are no dateable men, that people holler at her when she's jogging or riding her bike, all of which are things I hate as well, but she makes me feel like it's my fault. And where the fuck are the sidewalks?ours, and we don't have the porn or the egg-shaped vibrator we use at home. I use the vibrator in the morning after he leaves for work and think about having sex with him and it is better than the actual sex, which is confusing—how thinking about a thing can be better than the thing.

We show our IDs and the guy welcomes us back on board. Then we navigate the hallways until we find the right elevator. It's day four and I'm starting to learn my way around; it makes me want to stay longer despite the fact that I get seasick, that we have to eat dinner every night with his parents. We say goodbye to his mother and open the door to our cabin and she