Jonathan was examining himself in the mirror, trying to get a good look at the back of his head. He was 31 now and showing signs of male-pattern baldness. He hadn’t been properly prepared for this. It was hitting him harder than it ought to.

Meanwhile, Cassandra, his girlfriend, was asleep in the other room. They had been dating a few months now, and Jonathan was beginning to think they had real potential. In fact, he was growing more and more convinced of it, despite recently discovering she had only dated him in the first place to secure her yellow card.

Yes, it was true. Cassandra was determined to fuck her way to a full racial Bingo card, with Jonathan, it seemed, being the latest chink in a long, unbroken chain. He had overheard her gloating about it to one of her friends over the phone, and by the sounds of the conversation, Cassandra had successfully sailed through the Pacific Islands, bebopped her way through Harlem, enjoyed more than one siesta south of the border, and was now bagging a two-for-one with Jonathan, a dirty little Chinese boy trapped in the half-race body of a tall, balding white man.

At first, Jonathan felt hurt. He thought Cassandra liked him for him, his sense of humor, his active listening skills, hell, maybe even his professional success. But this? Well, it was no matter, he told himself. Whatever her reasons for being here in the first place, she had stuck around--no sense getting caught up in some need for the perfect love story. 

He turned off the bathroom light and went into the bedroom. Cassandra was sleeping, the curves of her body an inviting S under the covers. She snored lightly, her mouth slightly agape. He was glad she was here, and that was that.

After a moment, Jonathan walked into the hallway. The lights in the house were off, but an outside street lamp lighted the living area. His cat, Temu, trotted toward him, his collar bell tinkling as he approached, miaowing. Jonathan reached down and picked Temu up, held him close to his face, scratched his head. Temu purred, and after kissing his furry head, Jonathan plopped him back down on the wooden floor. He thought back to the day he’d replaced the old vinyl flooring after making that terrible mess. He'd been more careful since then.

Jonathon went into the kitchen and, keeping the lights off, opened the door to the wine cellar. He went down the stairs and at the bottom pulled a dangling string to turn on a bare light bulb mounted to one of the rafters. The air in the cellar was cool and damp, the tamped earth invigorating beneath his bare feet.

Jonathan made his way around the stairs and to the back of the cellar, where there was a wooden door locked with a padlock. He unlocked the padlock with a key he carried in his pocket and opened the door. Inside was a long, narrow room with hardware bolted to the wall. He pulled on one of the mounted hooks, dirty but eminently serviceable, and thought about his growing love for Cassandra. She wasn’t the only one with unspoken intentions.

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