Raven is all attentive looks and polite nods as Catherine gives him her last instructions, standing by the car. He 'uhu's and 'aha's and 'yes ma'am's in all the right places, while I throw our backpacks in the trunk. The amount of things she made us pack is more suitable for a week of camping rather than going out for a few hours to see a rock show. Still, if us packing warm coats and winter boots in this heat makes her feel better, it's not worth an argument.

As soon as we leave the driveway and her figure grows smaller in the rearview mirror, Raven drops all pretense and starts bouncing up and down in his seat.

"We're doing it!" he squeals. "We're actually doing it!" He leans over, wraps his hand around my neck, and says into my ear. "I want to kiss you on the lips, you bugger."

"I'm driving, for fuck's sake!" I push him away, then throw a sideways glance at him. "Are you high on something again?"

"Adrenaline only," he assures me, settling back into his seat. "I can’t believe I'm about to see them live!" He drums something on his lap, then turns to me. "You're probably doing this to apologize for that knife episode, so, you know, it's totally forgotten."

This rubs me the wrong way, but I can’t answer since taking the right exit requires all my concentration. It's only when we've safely settled into the right lane on the highway that I say:

"I'm doing this because I want to."

"Of course you want to. You felt bad about what you did so you wanted that feeling to go away. I don’t believe in altruism. People only do what makes them feel good."

I glance at him. "I'm taking you to a rock show to make myself feel good?"

"Yeah." He nods. "It's like, if you help an old lady across the street, it's not because you care about her, but because it makes you feel like a good guy, which gives you a tiny high. Or giving money to charity—nobody really cares, but it makes you feel like a generous person who can change the world, so it gives you another tiny high. All good deeds are just the result of people chasing their highs, you see?"

"I didn’t know you're such a philosopher."

"I'm multi-talented." I keep my eyes on the road, but I can literally sense him smile at me. "I particularly excel in blowjobs. Want one? On the house?"

I groan in exasperation. "Don’t you even start."

"No, seriously. You deserve it."

"Some people are straight, you know."

He hums thoughtfully. "Some people are, but you're not one of them."

"What?!" I forget to look at the road and the car swerves a bit.

"Oh, don’t take it so hard," he says, unperturbed. "I can tell. You're bi at most."

I scowl at him briefly. "If you don’t take it back, I'm turning this car around."

"Fine, I'll take it back. You're the straightest straight that has ever walked this earth." He goes quiet, and I wait for a few seconds before glancing at him again, only to find him grinning at me. "But if your ever change your mind, my mouth is at your service." He waves the plastic wallet in which he has enclosed the tickets to the show. "I've done it for less."

Unwillingly, my gaze slips down to his lips, and my mind is suddenly invaded by a highly unwelcome image of him "doing it".

"You never rest, do you?" I snap, returning my attention to the road, trying to banish the unwanted imagery from my head. "To you, everything is about sex."

"Isn't it?"

"Drop it," I say, and, after a pause, add, "How do you even bring yourself to do something like that? It's gross."

"What, giving head?" He stares at me. "Seriously?"

I shift uncomfortably. "Well, yeah?"

"When a girl does this to you, do you find it gross, too?"

I think about it. "I don’t exactly mind, but I'm kind of sorry for her for having to do that."

My cheeks feel hot. I glance to find him looking at me pitifully.

"Oh, sweetie, you're so anti kink," he says. "There's nothing disgusting about it, unless, you know, you're doing it to some caveman who hasn’t washed in months, and even that is not a problem with a condom. Also, regardless of how you feel, it can earn you in five minutes the money you'd receive for hours of mowing lawns or working in, I don’t know, McDonalds or something."

"As long as mowing lawns doesn’t demand sucking someone's cock in a public restroom, it's preferable to me."

"It doesn’t have to be in restrooms. There's a couple of motels near the Central Park, literally renting for half an hour. The "Greenroad" is pretty neat, and the "Red Lamp". They even change sheets every now and then. If you want to earn some basic capital, that's the quick way."

There's a traffic jam ahead of us, and I slow down gradually until we come to a halt. I watch the red rear lights of the cars ahead, drumming my fingers on the wheel. Then, I turn to him.

"You're not doing that anymore, right?" I say. "The Central Park, the motels, the earning the basic capital thing?"

"Of course not." He blinks at me. "After your unusual conviction techniques? No way. I mean, all kinds of people tried to influence me in all kinds of ways, but a knife to my throat was a fresh whiff of air in the world of teaching methods." He looks at the sea of cars ahead of us. "Seems like we're stuck. Is that a diner there? Could we stop?"

"We’ve just left home."

"I need to change." He gestures at his T-shirt and jeans. "I can't go to the show like this. A special occasion demands a special outfit, don’t you think?"

I frown. "And what would that be?"

"You'll see." He smiles and looks away. "I bet you'll like it."