I remember them in a way I’m sure former soldiers remember battles: all my former conquested loves. Although I easily forget names and dates and things considered to be of some importance by my friends, family and co-workers, I don’t forget them. I could tell you every detail of every encounter, right down to the socks they were wearing and the weather on that particular day. I don’t mind this strange pregnancy of erotic detail that’s been swelling in my brain since I reached puberty, quite the contrary in fact. The thing is though, when you remember that much of that many bouts of sex, you see it everywhere. I see them all in my room when I go to sleep at night or in the kitchen or the living room. A few of them out in the yard, a bunch in and around my car. There are some out in the street, some in nightclub bathrooms and dark back storage closets at bars. Yea I guess I’m haunted by all these fuck-ghosts everywhere but I imagine there are worse problems to have.