A running track circles the upper floor of Hudson’s Gym. In the middle of the floor are a number of broken-down weight machines and a moth-eaten exercise mat and the rusted, rickety stairway to the lower floor. Earlier, an old man had been running the track, jogging at a good steady pace, lap after lap, mile after mile, but now he’s standing on the second stair from the top, not going up or down.

The old man is right in the center of the step, and one beefy weightlifter mutters, “What’s the matter old man, stuck?” as he squeezes past.

Coming up, a pair of girls giggle as they slip to either side of the old man. “Did you see his stiffie?” one says to the other as they head for the rowing machines.

“Uh-huh,” the other answers. “They say old guys can last forever ... once they get it up.”

“Maybe he just has to pee,” the first girl suggests.

“Looked like he has to pee real bad,” the second girl says.

“Oh, Amelia, you’re so bad!”

“Speak for yourself, Zoë,” says Amelia, and she glances back towards the stairway. The old man is still there, stock still, stiff as ever.

“You don’t suppose he’s paralyzed?” Zoë says, a worried look crossing her pretty face. “Either that or petrified. I don’t think he’s moved an inch.”

“Maybe he just prefers not to,” Amelia says, “like that guy, what’s his name? The scribbler dude in that story we read in English last month.”

“You’re so literary,” Zoë says. “I didn’t get that story at all.”

“Me, neither,” Amelia agrees, “but now we have a real life example. Let’s go check him out.”

“Do you think he’ll still have his ... boner?” Zoë says.

Both girls giggle.

Sure enough, the old man’s erection is still in full force.

“Are you okay?” Amelia says, whispering in the man’s right ear.

The old man doesn’t twitch.

“Is there anything we can do to help?” Zoë says in the old man’s left ear.

The old man’s lips move.

“What’d he say?” Amelia asks. “I couldn’t make out his mumble.”

“Something about going down,” Zoë says. “At least that’s what it sounded like.”

“You want to go down?” Amelia asks the old man. “Makes sense. After all, you can’t stay here forever.”

“Go down,” the old man says, his voice a feeble croak, his head shaking back and forth.

“Maybe he wants us to go down,” Zoë suggests.

“Us?” Amelia says. “We just got here.”

“Maybe he wants us to go down on him.”

It takes a moment for the words to sink in. “Oh, Zoë, you’re so naughty,” Amelia says.

“Is that what you want?” Zoë says to the old man. “You want us to go down on you?”

The old man’s lips quiver.

“What’s he saying?” Amelia says.

Zoë shrugs her shoulders. “I don’t know.” She looks the old man in the eyes. “Do. You. Want. Us. To. Go. Down. On. You? Blink once for yes, twice for no.”