Did you know Medicaid pays for Viagra?

He's on the phone, on the couch-the brown couch...no, fabric blue...denim maybe...powder blue leather? He is on the telephone, the cord a tired jump-rope, the cord collecting cat hair on the floor, sitting on his powder blue leather couch that was not already there but that he tied to the back of a borrowed '99 F-150 and sat on while his brother-in-law drove too fast on the freeway, taking turns like a drunken goose in an oil spill, hoping something might slip. But acquired relatives are strong standers and often have heavy feet as a result of hiding napkin rings and various silver in their socks. Nonsense.

The couch got there. Three days ago. His name is Jerry. He is relatively attractive for being a bit thin. He eats sticks of gas station pepperoni and drinks sodium free club soda and sometimes thinks of little girls but has never gotten weak. Powder blue leather couch, red novelty race car phone, cord dragging the ground, one sock, the television full of weather while he punches each number with the guilt of a border jumper.

She is fourteen and can talk dirty thanks to reading. He did too much Meth in '97. He wants her to know it's possible. She wants him to feel disappointment. She's laughing quietly to her sister. Her sister is eight and has tasted beer. Have you? Yeah me too. To? Yah right, I know! I never know how to say it too. To? Did you know...

...my mom is sick.? She's on Medicaid.

...I'm on that?

...I'm not really that pretty?

...I think you're beautiful?

...I'm only seventeen?

...I'm thirty four?

...my dad's a cop?

...my dad's been gone since I was twelve...fifteen. Fifteen. Two years.

...I'd punch your dad for being a...a jerk? I would.

...I'm not wearing panties? I have to go to dinner. You're too old to fuck me.

...Medicaid pays for...

Did you know the line was dead?