The assignment was to do a modern version of Hopper’s famous Nighthawks. I show Harker my take on it and ask his opinion. His first reaction is to scrunch up his face in a frown.

“No like, eh?” I say.

“No,” he says. “I mean I like it okay.”

“But...?”

“Well, these two guys. These boys. They’re supposed to be gay?”

“What makes you say that?”

“Well, the guy on the left, our left, just looks gay to me. I mean look at his drink. Some giant milkshake. Probably peach. Or pomegranate. Or some weird fruity concoction like that. Probably with yogurt. Ugh. And the way he’s eyeing the guy on the right, our right. Like he wants him but he’s a little afraid to make a move. But he’d really like to suck the guy’s cock. I just feel it. And I’m surprised you didn’t show the guy’s cock, like sticking out of his pants. Though he does have his hand down there. Like he’s kind of teasing the other guy, but now that I look at it, maybe he’s looking at you, the artist, like he’s teasing you, like he’s saying, “Go ahead, show my boner, I dare you.”

“I suppose you could be right, Harker, but maybe the guy on the left, your left, is just disgusted with his fruity drink, and he wants the other guy’s simple can of Coke. Maybe he wants to stick his straw into the Coke can hole and suck it all down, slurp, slurp, slurp.

“One other thing, Harker...”

“What?”

“You say the other guy, the guy on your right, is looking at the artist. But see, isn’t it just as likely he’s looking at you, the viewer? You, sitting in the diner right there across from him, munching your chocolate frosted with sprinkles and looking at him, having all your—let’s be polite and just say thoughts. And it’s you he’s semi-sneering at. Saying, in effect, ‘Yeah, I know you want me, I know you want my cock. Dream on, big boy.’”

Harker snorts. That frown again. “Anyway,” he says, “I prefer Starbucks. Wanna go?”