Alaska

The deafening music gave Marco a headache, but he still smiled at the tall blond man.The guy was hot—a few years younger than Marco, with a fit body that looked like he was surfing.He was also very drunk, looking at Marco with out-of-focus blue eyes.

"Another drink?" the blond man called out.

Marco shook his head.He'd already had a few drinks, and this slight intoxication kept him in high spirits, but one more and he'd be dead drunk, and probably throw up.

The blond shrugged and put a sweaty hand on Marco's bare shoulder.Then he raised his eyebrows questioningly, and tilted his head to indicate the direction of the exit.

Marco slid off the stool and followed him through the boisterous crowd.The blond looks familiar, but Marco isn't sure if it's because they met somewhere or just because he looks like one of Marco's flamboyant lovers.However, the faces of these lovers have long been blurred with memory, and Marco has never bothered to remember their names.

As soon as Marco stepped outside, he felt the chill.The thin vest he was wearing was no protection against the cold, but his apartment was a few blocks away.The surfer man was probably too drunk to feel the cold, so he leaned against the brick wall and smiled crookedly. "where to?"

"your home."

The surfer shook his head. "No, my roommate will definitely not let me." Maybe he was telling the truth, maybe he had a regular partner at home, or maybe he just didn't bother to think about how to tactfully kick Marco out of the house after he was done. "What about your house?"

"No." Marco never took others home.

"Shit." The surfer hooked one finger around Marco's belt loop, pulling him closer, and squeezed Marco's hip with the other. "I don't have money for a motel room. Do you have money?"

"No."

"Then..." The blond man looked around, tilting his head and pointing to the alley across the street. "It's kind of secluded in there. Or we could go back inside. The toilet is a little crowded, but—"

"Just in the alley."

With one arm around Marco's shoulders, Surfer Hobbled across the sidewalk and out onto the street.A car sped by, its tires squeaking and skidding on the wet road, but the street was thankfully empty.Even the security guards at the nightclub were nowhere to be seen, maybe they went inside to escape the cold and rain.

The alley stank of garbage and wet cardboard.Surfer Man shoves Marco against the wall—wet drain against Marco's back—and kisses his face frantically, reminding Mark of a golden retriever.A golden retriever drinking rum.The man's hands were not idle, he grabbed Marco's shirt and the crotch of his jeans.

Marco was about to kneel down and unbutton the skater guy's jeans.He had to do it quickly because he was cold and his head was hurting worse.But then there was a loud bang in the street.Maybe a truck ran over something and bumped it - no big deal.And the sound made Mark's body tremble, echoed in his mind, a surge of acid water rushed up from his stomach, and his vision was blurred.He pushed the surfer away. "I have to go."

"What?" The surfer tilted his head, looking more like a puppy.

"Go. I have to go."

"But we haven't—"

"It's late, and I'm tired. There are a lot of men in there, go find them, okay?"

Horses can be angry for men.In fact he was expecting him to rage, because then he would have an excuse to roar back, bursting out of the invisible thick shell that surrounded him.The surfer, however, looked only hurt and confused. "I thought you liked me."

"I'm sorry. I have to go to work tomorrow morning."

"The day after tomorrow is Christmas."

"So tomorrow is the busiest shopping day. I do retail."

If the surfer had a job, he probably wouldn't be there all day folding clothes, convincing women how beautiful they look in those ugly dresses.He didn't look like the kind of person who could get up early in the morning.He shook his head. "so terrible."

"Yes. Sorry."

"Well...it's up to you. Let's make an appointment again when we have a chance."

"Okay."

Marco stood at the alley and waited for the man to walk back to the nightclub, and then went home by himself.

***

There's nothing good about being off for Christmas, either, because it means Marco will be alone in the apartment with nowhere else to go.He thought about going to the theater to see a movie, but none seemed to pique his interest.And he spent the whole day on the sofa, from Ralphie almost shooting his eyeball out with a gun, to seeing George Bailey regret the choice he made.He called Krista and had a quick chat with her, her baby crying the entire time.She says she's doing okay and loves North Carolina.Her boyfriend is coming back from Iraq in a few weeks from completing his military service, and may then be deployed to Georgia.In a few 10 minutes she had to go to church.He stopped calling Shana because she and her fiancé were traveling in Europe, and Marco couldn't remember if they were in Spain or Portugal now.

① A Christmas Story (1983).The main character is a nine-year-old boy named Ralphie, who has been looking forward to receiving a pistol for Christmas, but his mother, teacher and even Santa Claus will only give him the same warning: "You will knock out your own eyeball!"

②It'sa Wonderful Life (1946), the protagonist George Bailey attempted to commit suicide by jumping into the river on Christmas Eve. The guardian angel was sent by God to protect him. He said to the angel: "I wish I had never been born." The angel fulfilled his wish and let He went to see what it was like in a world where he never existed.

As night fell, Marco finally couldn't help taking out Scott's notebook from the drawer.He didn't look at the book very often, and when he did, he somehow managed to convince himself that Scott was alive and well and happy.How could the world be without someone who can draw funny cartoon cops, baristas and taxis?Who else can draw superheroes who save puppies and glacier scenes with a pencil?

Maybe Scott was looking for him.After Shana graduated, Marco moved out of the previous garage, left his mobile phone number with the landlord, and asked them to tell him the contact information if Scott showed up.But there's a good chance the landlord lost his number, or maybe they sold the decaying mansion for a tax credit and ended up moving.

Yes, all this is just a silly fantasy.Marco knew that that kind of thing wouldn't happen in real life.In real life, there are no fairy tales, no intertwined fates, and no brave feats of rescue.Some things went well—like Shana's promising genetics research;People will die.Hope will die.The body of George Bailey would be found floating in the river, and Ralphie died in a frenzied shooting accident.

"If only the nightclubs were still open," Marco mutters, though he doesn't think so.He hadn't had a good time at the club the first few nights.He was exhausted, numb and empty.God, he was so lonely.

He tuned the TV to something unrelated to Christmas — a documentary about the construction of a submarine — then turned the volume down and poured himself a tall glass of eggnog.Wrapped in a purple blanket, he curled up on the sofa, grabbed the book closest to him and opened it. "Merry Christmas, Scott," he whispered, and began to read.