Better Than Burroughs

Marina

I feel myself wake up and I don’t want to. I just want to go back to sleep and never wake up. I refuse to open my eyes and I know that the second I really wake up, I’ll be either hot or cold. Right now, it’s perfect and warm. My hair is in my face and when I reach up to push it away, I find a hand clutched in mine. Opening my eyes, I look down and I actually am holding a hand and it doesn’t belong to me. Turning my head slowly, I follow the arm that’s lying across me and find Callum curled around my back. No wonder why I’m warm, I’m being spooned by a very attractive Irishman.

His hand is clutching mine tenderly and I stare at it for long minutes. I flex my fingers and his grip only tightens as if to keep me from sliding from his grasp. I replace my fingers and squeeze back gently. It takes a few seconds for the sleep to clear from my mind and I remember how he got here. How he climbed into bed with me last night, waking me up and kissing me so gently. I didn’t know what to make of it and if I wasn’t half asleep, maybe I would have been upset by his arrogance at assuming that he could just crawl into bed with me after storming out of the flat. But now it’s just too far after the fact to be upset, not with him showing such honesty. He’s leaving his soft spots bare for me to see.

His breathing is deep and even and I assume he’s still asleep. I can either go back to sleep, wake him up, somehow get away from his tight grip, or lay here staring at his sleeping form. Honestly, I want to do a combination of the first and last. If I sleep, he’d probably wake before I did again and it would be his responsibility to do something. That’s nice. But I’m also quite addicted to just simply looking at him as well. And waking him up could also be nice and I can think of more than one way I would like to go about that.

His behavior last night was so at odds with other things that I’m really curious as to how he’ll act when he realizes what he did. Will he brush it off with sarcasm and humor or will he be serious? Or he could just pretend nothings amiss and leave to get something to eat. All I want is for him to kiss me again. Preferably when I’m awake and not thrown off to all hell.

He shifts behind me, rolling over onto his back, dragging my hand with him. I’m forced to roll over as well so my arm doesn’t pop out of its socket. Callum doesn’t seem in the least bit affected by my discomfort. But I do like the position more. I can see him clearly now. His face is so relaxed. Gone is the furrowed brow and troubled look. He looks more peaceful than I’ve ever seen him. I reach up with my free hand and lightly trail my fingers down the front of his face. His lips quirk up in a tiny smile and he pulls on my hand more, bringing me in closer to his side.

“Go back to sleep,” he suddenly says, his voice rough from a dry throat. He opens one eye slightly to look at me and quickly shuts it.

“When did you wake up?” I ask, resting my chin on his shoulder.

“Just now. Go back to sleep, mo chroí. I want to wake up next to you again,” he says, pulling me to lie half on his chest, fixing the sheet around us afterwards.

“What’s that mean?” I ask.

He opens his eyes to look at me for a moment and I don’t think he’ll answer. He looks confused for a second and then his eyes clear and he smiles a little before closing his eyes once again. Lazily, he says, “My heart.”

I feel love bubble up inside me and I fear that I may tell him that I love him. It’s on the tip of my tongue, begging to come out, but my mind overrules my heart and I hold off. That’s something that can wait. And what if I don’t? I thought I loved Felix. How am I supposed to know? There’s not a book for this. I content myself with trying to get even closer to him and wondering if he can feel my beating pulse react wildly to not only his calling me heart again, in Gaelic this time, but to his saying that he wants to wake up next to me again. What the hell did he do last night to bring all this on?

“Why do I have to be asleep though?” I ask.

“I can’t sleep under such scrutiny.” He brings my hand up to his mouth and brushes his lips across my knuckles. It’s so light that I barely feel it and my eyes fall shut. A shiver goes through me and I feel it settle in my stomach. I rest my cheek against his chest and wait for sleep to take over once again.

---

The next time I wake up, I’m alone. Sitting up, my bedroom is empty. I look to where Callum was and the sheets are rumpled but it doesn’t look any differently than it does every morning. Glancing at my alarm clock, it’s ten. That’s pretty damn late. Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I have a gross taste in my mouth and look forward to brushing my teeth. I’m disappointed that I’m alone.

After standing and stretching, I head for the bathroom, not seeing any trace of life in the flat. Callum doesn’t seem to be in. Fixing my toothbrush, I start brushing and look up at my reflection in the mirror. My gaze slides past my messy hair and on to a bright pink post-it note that’s staring back at me from its position stuck to my chest.

I peel it off and read, ‘You have absolutely no idea how difficult it was to leave your bed. Come give me a good morning kiss downstairs.’

It’s not signed but I guess it doesn’t really have to be. I can do nothing to stop the giant smile from spreading across my face. Now the toothpaste drooling down my chin I probably could have prevented. Thank god he’s not here. I even look to make sure he’s not lurking in the doorway.

I get ready in no great hurry. Well in mid-hurry. Okay, I’m rushing a bit but I want to go see him. I don’t know what’s gotten into him but thank god something has.

Callum

“Why do they call black people black? They’re brown. They should call them brownies, man! Like, Mexicans can be brownie lights and black people can be full on brownies,” the short squat kid announces. His friend laughs a little too hard and it screams over done. Just laughing too loud to be funny I guess. Fuckin’ wankers.

I can’t believe the stupidity that walks through my life. These two kids are fucking ridiculous. They must be seventeen. This is what will rule the world in the future? This generation? The planet’s in for some rotten bloody luck. Sometimes I fucking hate this job.

Last night was a good night. I feel revitalized with life. I don’t know if I should thank Christine for that. I feel that maybe I should. She didn’t say much out of the ordinary but it did spurn some thoughts. Lying with Marin last night was so god damn perfect. It felt natural and I felt real. I had been listening to Nick Cave all morning and it’s like I’ve never listened to him before. Everything just means more somehow. Maybe I just understand it more so than before. But what does that mean when the man is a master of love songs? Kneeling down, I find Morrissey’s newest and slide it in the player. Marin adores the man; she’ll be pleased when she comes down. She’s rather fond of this record. When she bought it she babbled for hours about how much more well adjusted Moz seems. I must agree, the guy does seem happier. About fucking time the poor ‘boy’ is happy. I’m just reminded of London, which reminds me of Ireland, and I need to go back. I never planned on living in the States for this long. I keep putting it off and I need to fucking just get over it and go. Now where that leaves Marin, I have no god damned clue. Honestly, I want her to go with me. But take her with me back home? How would that work with what I need to do?

Standing back up, I sit down and grab my book. Ever since I mentioned it to Christine last night, I’ve had an urge to read Unbearable Lightness. While I was pleased that I didn’t have to go upstairs to get my copy, what with the temptation to stare at Marin, I think I was more disturbed that the store still had a copy in stock. I’m Tomas in more ways than I care to admit.

The phone rings and it’s some woman asking if we sell books. Honestly. It’s in the bloody name for Christ’s sake! She then asks if I sell movies cause she’s lookin’ for a copy of Titanic. I want to tell her to bugger off and hang up, but I resist the temptation. In ten seconds I manage to get her off the phone.

“Hey man, you a foreigner?” the kid asks me immediately after I disconnect with the lady. I look up and fix the short kid with as much hate in my stare as I can possibly manage after waking up beside Marin twice in one morning. Sadly, I don’t think it’s enough to do any real damage. “Whatever tipped you off?”

“The accent.”

“Are you a citizen?” the tall one asks. He’s trying to grow in a beard. It’s patchy and doesn’t work on his round head. I don’t like him. Even though the short one’s making the moronic observations, this tall kid is arrogant and I don’t fucking like him. He looks like a giant fucking egg. I don’t need them shitting all over my mood.

I’m about to tell him to fuck himself when Marin literally hops down the stairs, announcing her presence with a resounding thud. She’s gorgeous. Her long hair is down, still messy from a nights sleep. She’s not wearing any makeup and she’s practically glowing. I can only hope that maybe I have something to do with the giant smile. In jeans and a t-shirt, she’s more perfect than any woman I’ve ever met.

I blow the kid off and do the only thing my body allows, pull her in for a hug. She returns it, her fingers pressing into my back, and she smells perfect. She pulls away a bit and stands on her toes, her hands pulling my face down to hers and she kisses me. It’s soft and so god damn natural that I don’t know what to do. I feel like I’m drowning in her and for the life of me, I don’t fucking mind.

“Good morning,” she chirps upon pulling those gorgeously soft lips away. The two kids are laughing amongst themselves and I can’t be bothered to care what about.

“How was your sleep, sweetness?” I tongue my bottom lip and I taste her, even through the strong mint taste of toothpaste I can taste her. Kissing someone directly after they’ve fixed their mouth up has never been enjoyable for me. It’s too potent, too strong and far too difficult to get past that crap and on to the mouth. But now? With Marin? Who the fuck cares?

“Splendid. And yours?” she asks and I don’t know what’s different but something is. With the whole lot.

“Brilliant,” I say and she smiles and I’m addicted to it. To this look on her face. The two kids break through and they’re on again with their racial bullshit. They are the reason I never turned this into a record store. I don’t need young pricks hanging about. And that’s exactly what I would get, bastards with Mohawks and chained wallets, endlessly arguing who’s better, Sex Pistols or Ramones. Fucking Pistols. No god damn argument needed. And that’s not just my Irish roots speaking out for Lydon. They’re just better, always have been and always will.

“What happened to you last night?” Marin asks, tilting her head up to look at me. Her mouth is so tempting and I think I could actually kiss her now. Any time I wanted. Somehow, I’ve gotten to that place and I can’t ignore the fucking voice in the back of my head screaming at me, telling me that she’s better than this. Than me. I tell myself to fuck myself.

“You’re referring to…?” I seek, not quite sure what she’s asking. She could mean a few things with that question.

“When you left? What happened?”

Ahh, that’s what she meant. Well I don’t think I’ll be telling her about my real location. After seeing the look on her face when I told her the amount of women I’ve fucked, and it’s not like that was even the total number, I don’t need to see anything like that ever again. Even though I didn’t even wank off to the girl last night. “I just had a good think.”

“It must have been pretty damn good to get you acting the way you did,” she observes, moving around me to pull herself up on the counter. Looking around, the boys are no longer in sight. I divert my attention back to Marin and I’m stepping between her legs before I can think. Leaning in, breathing deeply, I brush my mouth against her ear and mutter, “It was bloody mind blowing.” She smells like toothpaste, mouthwash and something so distinct that I’ll never be able to forget it. She smells of everything I could ever wish to be.

She rests her forehead against my shoulder and it’s so sweet that I don’t know what to do beside run my hands down her back. I’m not used to this sort of casual tenderness but I find myself wanting to just touch her and be touched. Sex doesn’t have much to do with anything right now. She’s so warm. I don’t think I can bear to sleep alone again, without her. How could anyone have the balls to give that up?

My phone rings and without moving away from her, I pull it out of my pocket and answer. The voice on the other end has me smiling like a tot.

“Oi! Spud! Prepare to squeal like a whorish squirrel on acid,” Deaglan greets loudly. Marin even heard it cause she lifts her head to look at me inquisitively.

“How are you Deaglan?” I ask.

“Fucking sweating my tits off, that’s how I am. You gonna come get me or will I have to beg ya?”

“Where are you?” I ask, wondering when the hell he got here. He never fucking said a word about coming over. I haven’t even spoken with the guy in a while. I kept meaning to call, I just never did. I seem to have that problem.

“At the airport. I was fucking strip searched. Random selection, my sexy foreign arse! Americans and their bloody paranoia.”

“Did they have a reason to strip search you?” I ask, recalling his youthful predilection for illegal substances.

“I’m offended. You coming to fetch me or not?”

I lower the phone from my ear and meet Marin’s gaze, “Would you possibly be willing to visit the airport?”

I could easily tell Deaglan to get a cab or I could get a cab but I don’t really want to. The guy flew all the way over here, I should get him. And if that’s the case, I want to spend the drive with Marin.

“Sure, lemme get my keys,” she smiles, planting a kiss on my cheek before moving off the counter. Her body slides against mine and I have to bite the inside of my lip to keep from moaning. I watch her head up the stairs and it’s not ‘till she’s out of sight that I bring the phone back to my ear, “It takes about an hour to get there. Amuse yourself ‘till then.”

“Only thing to amuse myself with around here is the soddin’ baggage belt.”

“Try not to get stuck it in.”

Marin was quick with the keys and in ten minutes we’re well on our way to the airport. She drops a small CD case in my lap and I watch her root around, collecting two more to drop in my lap. She tells me to put in whatever I wish and I amuse myself with looking through her music collection. Nothing really jumps out at me until I see several books on tapes. Or CDs rather. Looking up at her, I’m fairly disgusted.

“Is there an explanation for this?”

She looks over and grins, “Long drives. A while ago I drove to Oregon and I bought some of those to keep me company.”

So her excuse is acceptable enough, but the idea of buying into this bullocks still offends me. For someone who spends their days selling books, I hate seeing this shite. If you’re too lazy to read the book yourself, you don’t deserve hearing it. I admit, it’s personal. A vendetta of sorts.

She must catch on to my feelings because she laughs and adds, “You don’t drive, if you did, you would totally go for it.”

“I most bloody well would not.” She laughs again and it’s so beautiful and I’m losing it. I’m going soft for the lass. I’ve always been soft for her, I was never forced to realize just how much.

“So who is this guy?” she asks me when I go back to finding a CD to listen to.

“Deaglan Murphy. Childhood mate of mine from Dublin. He’s been taking care of the house for me.”

“House?”

“My families home. Me Aunt had it until I was old enough; after which I turned it over to Deaglan to look after. They weren’t too fucking thrilled with that. No one could get at the furniture or whatever else they wanted. Everything was left to me and I left it all there. Deaglan was thrilled. He’s been living there for free. I really need to go back and clean the place out.”

I’m looking forward to seeing him again. It’s been too long. Just hearing his voice took me back home and it’s a feeling that I miss. A sense of familiarity and family. He was like a brother. Is like a brother. Leaving Dublin meant leaving the one friend I had but my mum needed me. I didn’t whine much. Of course I whined some, I was a kid. She always made sure that we spoke though. She was good about that. There wasn’t much she wasn’t good about. Last time I saw Deck was at her funeral. I was angry the entire time. Livid. Not only about her death, but about her burial.

“It was always my parents’ wishes to be cremated and spread out over the cliff by our home. My father was cremated and me mum always told me that when she went, I was to do the same to her and release them together. She never wanted to be underground. Being buried terrified her. Despite her wishes, her family wanted a burial. She never wrote any of it down in a professional type manner and they completely discounted my insistence that a burial was something she never wanted. I felt sick the entire service. I don’t think I can stand to go back and see her like that. See a fucking stone with her name on it, as if it means: fuck all in the scheme of things.” Once I got going, it seemed to just keep spilling out and I couldn’t stop. Marin seems completely shocked at my confessions. I do like getting to her.

“I’m sorry that her family was so narrow-minded,” she glances over at me and gives me a lopsided smile. It’s comforting and sweet and I find myself not even able to return it. I look ahead and think about home. I need to go back, despite the horror I’ll most assuredly feel at seeing her down in the ground like that. I need to see the whole thing though. I need to go back and I need to do it when Deaglan leaves. I need to go with him. The forgotten CD cases are all in my lap and I glance over at the lovely driver and I want to ask her to go with me. I want to, but I don’t have the balls to do it so instead I just ask her what she wants to hear.

She shakes her head insistently and says, “Nope, your choice.”

“How about silence then? That sound good?” I ask, putting all of the cases on her back seat. She smiles softly and drops her right hand from the wheel to grab mine. Threading our fingers together, I lean back and stare at our hands. Her finger nails are bright red. They sparkle when the light catches them. So smooth, faultless, and of a normal length. Long enough to tap on a table, short enough to be functional. I adore her thumbs. They’re perfect. I picture her nails pressing into my back, shoulders, arse, thighs. My entire body stiffens.

Marina

So I’m in love with him. Flat out, one hundred percent butt crazy in love with Callum. I don’t know quite when it happened exactly, but it happened and I feel like I’m on a drug crazed high. I’ve never felt this sort of adrenaline. It’s amazing. Sure, I have lots of fears and concerns about it all, I just choose not to think about any of them until I absolutely have to. I love the bubble I live in. It’s warm and sort and there aren’t any fidelity concerns.

Deaglan is insane. That was my first opinion of the guy. My first glimpse of him, he was bent over, his butt crack on display, and was picking change up off the ground. He and Callum had quite the greeting. Hugging like brothers. It was adorable. I’m pretty sure Callum’s ass was grabbed. When I saw Deaglan’s front side, I was glad that Callum has a friend that would wear a shirt that says ‘Care To Fuck Me Sideways?’. I saw such a difference in him. He’s already so much more relaxed and goofy.

We brought Deaglan back home, Callum insisting that he was to stay with us. I don’t mind at all. Deaglan seems like a fun guy. Polite too, I hadn’t expected that. It’s more difficult to understand him; his Irish accent is much thicker than Callum’s. Sitting around the living room, I’m content with just listening in on the two as they take a walk down memory lane.

Standing up from the couch, Callum asks, “Anyone want a drink?”

“Coke,” I say when he looks over at me. He nods and glances at Deaglan, who seconds the Coke, adding, “No more alcohol for me, mate.”

“Right,” Callum says with sarcasm dripping from his voice as he retrieves the beverages,

“I’m as serious as a kick in the bullocks. I gave up that shite. The lot of it,” Deaglan insists, running his hand through his mass of red hair.

“I’m just having a hard time buying this, Deck. You were the one who got me drinking in the first place,” Callum laughs, handing us each a Coke, a beer for himself. He returns to his spot beside me and even drapes his arm across my shoulders. It’s nice that he’s not ignoring me in front of his friend. It says a lot.

“Not my fault you’re so fuckin’ impressionable, Spud.”

“What’s with the nickname?” I ask.

“Me last name’s Murphy, Spud’s sort of a…well it comes with Murphy. I was taunted by spineless whelps who where just lamenting over their fondness for their sister’s knickers. Callum here beat the piss outta a few of ‘em. It’s my way of saying…” looking over at Callum, he reaches out and slowly places his hand on his knee, “I love ya, mate.”

They’re silent, stuck in a moment of intense reflection, and than they both bust out laughing. I can’t help but laugh along with them. Watching Callum, the brilliant smile on his face, I’m so happy just being where I am. They delve into stories of their childhood, people they tormented and birds they rescued, and I find myself just zoning out. I’m listening, but not really paying all that much attention. I like listening to Callum’s voice; I honestly don’t care what he’s saying most of the time. I mean, what he says is always wonderful, but his voice is so smooth and deep at times that it wouldn’t matter what comes out of his mouth.

“How’s photography treating you?” Callum asks, removing his arm from my shoulders and leaning forward.

“That’s right,” Deaglan says, climbing to his feet and moving behind the couch to grab the smaller of his two bags. He brings it back to where he was sitting and drops his body to the ground. “Brought these for ya,” he says, pulling a folder out and handing it to Callum. He also pulls a camera out, I know nothing about them but it looks like the sort of camera a professional photographer would own. Having the camera out in the open makes me nervous. I have never liked cameras. I always look so different in photos. I don’t recognize myself. It’s either me who has the skewed perception of my outward appearance or cameras hate me. I vote for the latter so it won’t be my fault.

Callum sets the folder on his knees and opens it. It’s filled with tons of black and white photos, the top one being a shirtless photo of Deaglan with a come hither look about him. Callum looks up questionably and Deaglan grins, “That’s just something extra.”

Callum laughs and goes back to the photos. The smile slips from view when he begins to look at the others in the pile. He hesitates on one and I look over his shoulder to see a house. The only detail I am able to notice before Callum closes the folder is that there are lush green vines growing up the wall to the left of the front door.

“Thank you,” he says, nodding his head towards Deaglan, who smiles in return. I feel like I’m missing something and I wouldn’t be all that shocked if I’m right.

“No problem,” he assures, lifting his camera at us and clicking a picture. Oh great.

“Time for work,” Callum says, standing up and taking the folder with him.

“Oh fuck off!” Deaglan groans.

Standing up, I set my hand on Callum’s arm, “Let me go down, I can man the store. You should spend time with your guest. It would be rude not to.”

“I like her,” Deaglan says, standing up. “Besides, you really want me helping ya down there?”

Callum looks ready to protest and before he can, I head for the door, “Sorry, too late, I’m already gone.”

Callum

“What’s the score with the bird?”

“What?” I ask absently, sifting through the photos.

“The rather stunning American bird ye have down working her tight arse off for ya.” I hear another click and I’m glad Deaglan stuck with the photography thing, he was always taking pictures as a kid and unlike me, the heads were always intact.

“I believe you were already introduced Deck,” I know I’m avoiding the question, but what the sodding fuck am I supposed to say? We’re not in any sort of area that allows me to call her something besides my flat mate.

“So ye wouldn’t mind me tucking her in tonight?”

I look up and Deaglan laughs at me. I must have some sort of laughable expression but whatever it was told Deck what he wanted to know. Good. Now I don’t have to. He hands me a box, and says, “I didn’t want to give that to ya earlier, didn’t know what sort of a thing you two had.”

“Pictures from the bordello?” I smile.

“They’re of your childhood,” he says and he doesn’t have to say anymore because I know who’s in the folder. My fingers itch to open it and look at my past and I try to ignore it but can’t. Taking the lid off, the top photo stops me from breathing. My father is reclining against the headboard of my parents’ bed, reading a book. As a little boy, I’m laying beside him, looking up at him, and I don’t remember this. I’m probably five, it’s no surprise. I stare down and in the back of my mind I can hear Deaglan’s camera clicking and it’s comforting. Reminds me where I am, who I am. I look at my face, it’s who I was always supposed to be. I knew everything as a child, every blood thing, so fucking sure of the world and my place in it. I don’t recognize myself. I am not young enough to know everything.

“There’s tons of those boxes, I only brought one.”

“Yeah, me mum took a lot of photos,” I mutter, thankful that Deaglan thought to bring any at all. I lift the photo to my face and stare at the image. I stare for so long that suddenly I realize that I’m my father. That little boy is gone, but the man with the book, it’s me. The posture is so achingly familiar, and not because I remember it, but because I live it. One hand is in the process of smoothing down the page, not tracking eye movements, but for reassurance. Reassurance that it’s there, that the moment is alive. But I remember the feeling of looking at my father, watching my parents, I remember feeling everything.

“Thank you, really,” I say, setting the photo down in the box and replacing the lid. I’ll spread them all out later, this is enough for now.

“It’s time to go home, Spud,” Deck says and he’s right.

“How long you stayin’ for?”

“Leaving tomorrow, I’m hopin’ you’ll be with me,” he says in a tone I can’t quite name. Not something I don’t recognize, just one of those tones that never exactly fit in a category. I nod and know that I should go back with him. It seems to be the only reason why he showed up so suddenly. I forgot how fucking well he knows me. We’ve known each other too long for me to blow him off successfully. This is what I needed, something to push me back home.

“But as long as I’m here, you gonna show me a night out or what? That lovely little lass downstairs, she can dress pretty fer me. What the fuck did ya do to yer hands? Still cutting yerself up, I see.”

I laugh because he says it as if it’s normal for me and it is. He’s not shocked and appalled, not worried about my mental health. Marin is still worried, I see it in her face every time she glances upon my hands. I hate that I worry her but she must get used to it. Chances are, I’ll do something else in the future that will worry her. Physical pain isn’t what people should spend time fretting over. But maybe the fact that he’s not shocked is the worst.

We spend the next few hours just…well I guess catchin’ up on everything. He tells me about the house, how it’s doing, and fills me in on whatever he feels I should know. We finally decide to eat and I go down to fetch Marina, who has apparently taken to working with books quite nicely. She looks like she belongs behind the counter and I’m glad that Deaglan had to relieve himself. It gives me a nice opportunity to take in all she has to offer. And it’s a lot.

I made sure to take the steps lightly and she hasn’t noticed my presence. Her elbows are on the counter and she’s bent at the waist, leaning over an open book. I think I may prefer her in jeans now. I’ve never been the type to have one favorite body part, I can appreciate every single one in its own right. The backs of her thighs look bloody terrific in the jeans. Leaves nothing to the imagination. She needs to stand upright before Deck comes down.

I softly cough to let her know I’m here and step up to her side. She doesn’t stand up though, instead just looks over at me with a coy smile and I want her on this counter.

“How’s it going up there?” she asks, slowly standing up and facing me. The slowness had to be deliberate. There is no way her body moves that way by accident.

“I’m closing up, we’re goin’ out.”

“We are, are we?” she teases.

“Indeed, we are,” I say just as Deaglan bounds down the stairs.

“Yer bleedin’ loo is frightingly sanitary.”

“Is this just a food outing or is this more of an event sort of outing?” Marin asks, “Cause I’m changing…well actually I’m changing either way.”

She moves to walk past Deck and I tell her to keep the jeans. She looks at me oddly but nods her head anyway, disappearing quickly.

“So where we goin’?” Deaglan asks and I have no god damn idea. I hadn’t thought that far. Most of the places I know really well…are not places suitable for Marin, too much nudity and I like Marin innocent.