If his lips are silent, he chatters with his fingertips. Betrayal oozes out of him at every pore. (Sigmund Freud)

It’s probably obvious by now that I don’t want to use the real name of UCLA boy. I don’t want anyone to read too far into it. I promise I wasn’t projecting any messed up adolescent feelings but UCLA boy’s name was Thomas. People called him Tom. Some people, most people, okay, virtually everyone called him Tommy.

So the UCLA student named Tommy thought (with the best of intentions) that he was coming to my rescue by beating the living daylights out of the guy I was shacking up with. Again, don’t read too much into that. I’m not looking for a secondary father or any messed up Freud shit like that.