Hot Pink by Adam Levin Page B

means down there ,” said the Goy.
    â€œThat is a very ambiguous answer,” I said.
    â€œ Down there … and the mouth,” added the Schlub.
    â€œThe mouth?” I said.
    â€œThe mouth and down there ,” said the Schlub. “Add two and two, would you? We’re talking about our wives here, may they rest in peace.”
    â€œWe’re talking about an act!” said Heimie. “We’re talking about the extra mile ! And I don’t know what you mean by down there . Do you know what he means, Arthur?”
    â€œOnly vaguely,” I said. “In my experience, there’s more than one down there .”
    â€œThere’s the one down there ,” said the Goy, “and there’s the other down there . To put the mouth to the one is the extra mile . To put the mouth to the other is filthy and disgusting.”
    â€œI agree,” said the Schlub.
    â€œI disagree!” I said.
    â€œ I disagree!” said Heimie, looking a little farklempt. I’d stolen his fire. Or at the very least I’d stolen part of his fire. It was two-on-two now, and he’d expected one-on-three. He said, “And why filthy and disgusting?”
    â€œBecause waste comes from the other ,” said the Goy.
    â€œWaste comes from everywhere!”
    â€œBut this kind of waste causes illness.”
    â€œI was never ill by such waste,” said Heimie.
    â€œNor was I ever ill by it,” said I.
    â€œThis is filthy and disgusting,” said the Schlub.
    â€œDo you eat shrimp?” I said. “The veritable cockroach of the ocean?”
    â€œYes,” said the Goy.
    â€œDo you eat bacon?” said Heimie. “The meat of a beast who rolls in its own excrement?”
    â€œI love bacon,” said the Schlub. “It’s salty.”
    â€œThese crazies,” Heimie said to me.
    â€œBacon and shrimp for them?” I said. “Indeed. Maybe even some bacon wrapped around a shrimp, but not the other down there , God forbid . ”
    â€œShellfish and pork, Arthur?”
    â€œPlease, Heimie,” I said. “Shellfish and pork, but ass no thank you!”
    What did they do, the Schlub and the Goy? They left. We didn’t try to stop them. We knew the Goy would return soon enough and, surely, to be rid of the Schlub was a blessing.
    â€œSo how often did you go the extra mile, then?” Heimie said to me.
    â€œWhich one?”
    â€œBoth,” he said.
    I told him the truth. I said, “Rarely the one and never the other .”
    â€œSame here,” said Heimie. “It’s regrettable.”
    â€œWe should’ve done more,” I said.

FINCH
    The fifty-third day in a row we hung out, me and Franco got all these grilled cheese sandwiches at Theo’s BaconBurgerDog from Jin-Woo Kim, who people call “Gino” cause we’re not in Korea or are in Chicago or people are lazy or two of those reasons. Gino’s dad Sun’s the owner of Theo’s, and summer afternoons, he leaves Gino alone there. We went in at three, when the place was the deadest, and Franco said we wanted a grilled cheese sandwich. Right as soon as Gino started making them, though, Franco told him on second thought to make that three sandwiches, so Gino started making a third one too, except then what Franco said was what he’d meant was three apiece, and Gino stopped moving. He was over by the fryer, facing away from us, his hand on the scoop dug into the butter tub.
    â€œWhat,” Franco told him.
    Gino got back to work. Grabbed bread and cheese from the rack on the counter.
    â€œFor to go,” Franco said. He lit up a cigarette.
    I passed him an ashtray. A bunch were stacked up on the garbage cans behind us.
    â€œThanks, yo,” he said. “Hey, check this ashtray. Gino’s dad stole.”
    That was probably true—all the ashtrays at Theo’s were Burger King ashtrays, the chintzy aluminum kind with crimped