"Mike Millen." How do you spell it?"Mike looked at him strangely. "Uh... M-I-K-E, dude." No, I mean your last name," Jake said."Oh," Mike said, hittin... himself in the forehead. "Like... duh." He spelled it out.Jake scratched out a variation of his standard autograph scrawl: To my friend Mike Millen, Keep rockin, dude. Jake Kingsley.Mike's friend was Jason. Jake signed his airline stub as well."Thanks, dude," Jason said. "You really rock, man. I was at your MSG gig. Heard you had a real good. . yeah, your pussy ... but ... your skin and your mouth and even your breath. Everything you are. Everything you have. Maybe even everything you think and feel. It all lives in the air around your body like a nimbus. Like touching you means reaching through a layer of something you're made of before actually touching you." Da fuck is a nimbus?" It doesn't matter. More shit nobody knows what is. Maybe all I'm saying is you're pretty and you make my dick so hard I just wanna fuck you into next. More

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