We went to the boxing, couldn’t find seats, got caught in the crush of crotches. Coconutty coke, you swallowed a shot-glass of sunblock while I nibbled a clear plastic cup of transparencies, water, ice. Blood buckets. The smack of spit. Saliva over the loudspeakers. You said, heavy metal, it’s like being in your room. I threw the devil, the I-love-you sign at you, my hand tumbling me toward the flurry of fist and flesh, bam and bang. You said, it’s like being in your room. The rotten-egg reek of white sparkly flares, then the ringed-in girls tied their hair in ponytails—me and my sister pounding the shit out of each other.