...Back at the hotel, he strips and I gobble two of my fortuitous codeine tablets. I know what my duty is. Whithin an hour, I'm in that sparkling night gallery made of little explosions of codeine. It blots out most sociological details surrounding our situation, leaves only his hard , shadowy body inexcplicably laid out for me, dappled by the streetlight piercing the gaps in the heavy curtains. This is a funereal, or should I say vampiric, scene. I fall to my knees in the darkness because I know that to worship his abjection is to drink at the fount of cultural doom and play at entangling my fate with his. He's a door out of of the repetitive banalities of North American capitalism.His penis plunges into my throat like an eel into inky water. ...

From "The Romanian" by Bruce Benedrson.