6...

Mary was Frank’s ex-girlfriend, but he didn’t think that she was quite getting the “ex” part of it. Granted, the breakup was still pretty recent, but Mary insisted on calling almost every day. She babbled on and on about her daily business, which was mostly mind-numbing sorority business, and didn’t seem to notice when he almost never spoke. It was Frank’s job to throw in a “uh-huh” at random intervals and to hide the sound of his smoking, a habit which Mary chose not to know that he had.
The breakup had been all right, not too messy. Frank had driven all the way out to Davis to see her personally, he thought it was the ultimate asshole maneuver to breakup with somebody on the phone and he still wanted to be thought of as a nice guy. He told her that they were bad for each other, that they wanted completely different things out of life, that there was no longer love between them but habit and that was just slow death. He told her that this breakup had been a long time coming and she must see that. She had apparently not seen it and had cried for hours, literally hours. He had stayed the night trying to be a comfort, but ultimately would rather have chewed his own foot off. He remembered they had played Monopoly at one point.
He picked up the phone and began slowly pushing buttons. He felt that most dread in his life came just after dialing the 916 area code.

5...

Home was an old victorian, slowly rotting itself into the ground. Frank walked up to the small apartment on the second floor and through the dingy used-to-be-white door. His roommate, Bryan, was standing in the kitchen/living room eating vegetables straight out of a can.
“Didya even heat that shit up?” Frank asked.
“Do I ever?”
Bryan worked at a coffee shop for steady income. The perks were that the apartment was always filled with decent coffee, half full cartons of milk and day old bagels and pastries. To earn extra money, Bryan occasionally did gay porno films. He wasn’t necessarily gay, but said that the shoots were cleaner, nicer and run better than their hetero counterparts.
Frank threw the copy of Wank down on the kitchen table and sifted through the layers of trash already there.
“Did I get any mail?” Frank asked.
“Nope,” Bryan replied around a mouthful of corn and lima beans.
Frank tossed his coat on the hand me down couch and started heading for his bedroom.
“Oh,” Bryan swallowed and cleared his throat. “Mary called.”
Franks shoulders sagged as he shuffled off to his bedroom

4...

The cab made a quick left turn, the back tires skidding across asphalt and leaving black lines that smelled like death, brought the high note sound of broken glass to mind. Frank grabbed the handle above the door and slammed his other hand down on the copy of Wank that was sliding away. The bleached blonde on the cover looked up with a narcotic haze, lips painted all red and slick.
“You can stop here.”
The cab screeched to a halt five houses up the street from Frank’s place. Frank flew from the back seat hitting the front.
“Six thirty-five,” the driver said, momentarily turning the thumping music down.
Frank handed him a twenty and watched as the driver made change with nothing but ones. As the driver turned to give him the change, Frank could see some bit of black food hanging from his front tooth, his breath smelled like metal.
“Thanks,” Frank mumbled, handing the driver a couple of bucks.
He stepped out of the car and started closing the door when he realized that he’d left the Wank sitting on the back seat. He almost left it, he almost just closed the door and left it, but something made him reach back in and grab it.

3...

The cab sped away from the curb with a squeal, the smell of burned break pads and scorched transmission lingering on the air. The driver turned his head to ask “where to” in a confusing accent.
“Upper Haight,” Frank said.
The cabby pulled the car over to the curb with such fierce speed that Frank was thrown against the door.
“Are you aware, smart guy, that I cannot make a left on Van Ness?”
Not really wanting to press the point that there were actually a number of places to turn left on Van Ness, Frank said, “Dude, then make a right, a right, and a right.”
Frank rubbed the elbow he had banged on the window crank dealy. The cabby mumbled something incoherently and began driving once again. He turned up his radio, which was playing some sort of rave party disco, very loudly. As he squealed around three right turns, the driver began to sing along with the music. Frank thought he might be singing about feeding cheese to a dog, and then there was something about licking feet.
Frank began to think that the driver was faking his accent. That disturbed him more than dog/cheese lyrics.

2...

There was something about the smile on the Wank guys face, like he was sharing a conspiracy. Frank walked over to him.
“I didn’t know you could get a subscription to Wank.”
“Oh yeah! Great deal! Plus you get special Wank mailings.”
Words spoken like the truest, most positive affirmation uttered to that point in time.
“Yeah, well, I’ve never really actually seen an issue of Wank.”
The dispenser guy kept smiling in a way that was now feeling a little too close, a little too personal.
“Have one for free,” he said.
He handed over an issue, his hand lingering in thin air for a moment after Frank took the issue. He then reached into his breast pocket and handed Frank a card.
“In case you decide you want a subscription,” the guy said. “Or for anything else you might need.”
Frank, feeling suddenly shaky, quickly hailed a cab coming up the street. As he climbed into the back seat he could hear the Wank guy behind him:

“For anything...”

1...

She looked all crack-whored up, and she wasn’t presenting it well. While Frank waited on the corner, looking up the street for a cab, she continued to pester him.
“You looking for a cab?”
“Yeah,” he finally said. “I’m looking for a cab.”
She shook a little bit when she talked, like something that crawled from the water, something close to death.
“Why don’t you come with me, I gotta drivers license, I can show you. I’ll drive you where you wanna go.”
He imagined himself slit up three ways from Sunday and left bleeding in the Tenderloin.
“No, that’s okay. I’ll just wait for a cab.”
She went on rambling about how safe a driver she was and how the car was clean. To avoid looking her in the face he peered over her shoulder. He could see the guy filling up the sidewalk dispenser for that seemingly really sleazy porno magazine. The cute, little, paperboy satchel ran a tad counter to the middle-aged guy with a beard shoving smut into a metal box that smelled strongly of urine. The guy must have noticed Frank’s glance because he looked him right in the eye. He grabbed a copy of Wank and held it up with a smile.
“You want a subscription?”