Vincenzo Lupo is all grown up, and splitting his life in two. After surviving a narcissistic, abusive family, Vincenzo just wants a normal life. The problem? His normal is full of sexual addictions, educated escorts, big-time theft, homeless run-aways, and a healthy schmear of vigilantism, and a little side project that helps the world in a special way.

Things are going well until two big surprises land on his doorstep, bleeding into his real life. How far will he go to protect his secret ways?

"The sky was so bright, and there were so many stars that, gazing upward, one couldn't help wondering how so many whimsical, wicked people could live under such a sky." - Fyodor Dostoevsky

There's a thin line of blood on the base of my left hand. I swallow a smile, and try to wipe it away. It goes unnoticed by my date, who is thoroughly engrossed in her half of the conversation. "I mean, I'm pretty sexual, but, not overly so, ya know? I don't want you to think I'm, like super slutty, especially given my chosen profession."

She's on the bar stool next to me in a dimly lit Irish pub down by the waterfront - short, dyed-blonde hair, thin waist, full breasts, and long, thin legs. Not at all my type, but beautiful by any traditional standard. And despite her babbling, the conversation is satisfying. She began the evening full of confidence; wide eyed, well dressed, and ready to wow. However, as the night wears on, she's growing more nervous. It's amazing how some women respond when you aren't willing to buy their initial facade. How easily they fall when you actually take an interest in what they're saying, how they say it, and most importantly, what they really want to say.I listen with perverse joy while she rambles into her beer. Something about the power inherent in putting an otherwise confident woman on the same level as a pudgy 6th grade boy at his first school dance warms my soul.

That, of course, is a lie I feed myself.

The whole process is sickening. The truth is, I use her type to decipher this culture... to understand, to learn to blend in... lest I remain a stranger in a strange, violent land. Still, something about her is flooding me with compassion and a want that is hard to shake. It's not lust. More of a warmth. A one-night puppy love. That's absurd, obviously. If I measure all women by that standard, I'm in love with at least three at all times. Still, something about her is flooding me with compassion and a want that is hard to shake. It's not lust. More of a warmth. A one-night puppy love. That's absurd, obviously.

If I measure all women by that standard, I'm in love with at least three at all times. But, this bubbly blonde babbling next to me?

I guess I'm developing a soft spot for the little maniac, but I can't let her know...I want her to keep nervously slurring through her thoughts even though I'm tempted to burrow deep into her mind, unlock every dark secret, every unspeakable thought, every unthinkable desire. Her mood darkens, her glowing opaque sadness, "I didn't think a guy like you would want to be out with someone like me, on account-a what I do and all."