They took my ass while I was sleeping. I admit, I was sort of awake but beyond caring. Look, where did it ever get me? In youth, I was built like Gumby—reversible, really. If it weren’t for my face, you couldn’t tell if I was coming or going. There wasn’t enough to cushion my hip bones, fill out my jeans, and who wants that kind of attention, anyway? There was that jerk from Bloomfield Hills at the Aut Bar who grabbed it that time, then changed her mind. No one valued it, really, not even the thief who brought it back the next day—dumped it on my porch like a chicken shit. I stumbled over it getting the mail, its yellow post-it note taped to one cheek, “sorry, we made a mistake.”

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