347-536-0254 was the number—you could see it carved in with a sharp red pen in the wooden bathroom stall of this place named Sandy’s. They said that the boy was there the night before. The place was too lawless for any chief of police to care to check out the disappearance of that kid. I hooked up with him once. He said his name was Bear. He had a small can of lube he got at an Alaskan sex store. It was in the shape of a whale. We’re now in the small town of Jut, in Alaska. No one’s gonna care or talk about it much. I’m always looking for some meat anyway. No one really talks about much because a lot of strange things happen where there’s no one to see or record anything. Sometimes I wonder what would happen if they had cameras all over Alaska like they do in New York. I know what happened to that boy, but I’m sworn to secrecy. Mike Finke’s some crusty backpacker who was just passing through—that’s all I’ll say. You get a little of that here. These guys who are into sick shit, who weren’t loved by their folks or something, and they end up backpacking and something happens and they pass through here. It’s easy to get rid of stuff here. I mean the Eskimos are great healers and there’s stuff going on that might seem a little bit weird but might put people back in touch with something if they’re willing to cross certain boundaries. But I wish some of the electricity would come back. Everyone wanders around at night and sometimes you get the sense there’s something strange happening but you can’t see it. I keep thinking about that kid because he disappeared when all the electricity went out. I saw Mike Finke in a basement where some noise group called Germs Only was playing and I sucked his cock thinking about all of this stuff—like did he kill that boy? Like why am I having dreams about Mike Finke? Like why does he walk around the small town with that scary old Eskimo mask? I heard they tied that kid’s brain to a hook. That made me barf, but I think something’s happening to everyone’s brain around here because no one’s really scared in the way you usually see people scared. Everyone’s very quiet, like four year-olds. We don’t talk much. The winter’s been a bitch. One day I tried with my own hands to put together a light bulb. I couldn’t. I heard that kid came from a well-to-do family from Connecticut who disowned him because of his meth problem. I think I heard it used to be Harrison Ford’s son. I don’t know what I heard. Anyway that’s the number you dial to get the boy’s phone, but the electricity’s been out for a long time and I’m pretty sure his voicemail box is basically full.