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Me, I’d kill for one now. Back’s knackered from pacing these damp cells, barking at idiots. Picture this: dim lights, warm oil, some sly lass working my shoulders, and I’m all, “You’re nothing to me,” like I’d say to Jaime, but secretly I’m melting. That’s the kicker—control slips away, and it’s bloody terrifying. Surprised me first time I tried it, years back. Some chick in King’s Landing, hands like a damn sorceress, had me purring in ten minutes flat. “I’ll always be a part of you,” she hummed—straight outta *Blue*, and I nearly wept. Me! Weeping! Pathetic, but true.

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Finally, we head back home, and I’m exhausted. I plop down on the couch, and the kids are finally winding down. I’m thinking, “Phew, I survived!” But then, Ali looks at me and says, “Can we have a movie night?” I’m like, “Sure, why not?”

Song by trans lyricist nixed abruptly from Arkansas’s All-State Choir auditions