Where Nerves End

acupuncture was covered by health insurance because I didnt have health insurance.
The muscles knotted tighter. The tension climbed higher, inching toward my hairline and clawing its way around to the other side of my neck. Stiffness coiled around my spine, descending toward the middle of my back. The more I worried, the more it hurt. The more it hurt, the more I worried.
“Man, you have got to do something about all this shit,” Seth said in the back of my mind. “Youre going to end up with a seized up shoulder, an ulcer, and a goddamn stroke or something.”
“If youve got a solution to my money issues,” I said, “Im all ears.”
He didnt. Neither did I.
To hell with it. Tomorrow, Id get that number from Seth. I couldnt afford to even think about it, but I also couldnt keep living like this. Maybe the acupuncture would help, maybe it wouldnt.
I hoped to God it would.
    * * *
    By the grace of God and coffee, I was able to drive safely the next morning. Cameron, as his name turned out to be, lived on the other side of town near one of the universities, and since I was headed that way anyway, I took him home.
    As my car idled in front of his apartment building, he grinned and said, “Give me a call if you ever want a rematch.”
I returned the grin. “Bet on it.”
He made no move to kiss me, just winked and got out of the car. Didnt know if Id call him again. Probably not. He certainly wasnt lacking in bed, I just wasnt interested in much beyond a onenight stand right now. Boyfriends, especially the one whod left a few months ago, had a tendency to equate “my shoulder hurts too much” with “I have a headache” after a while, so casual sex with men whose names I barely knew was the less stressful approach these days.
After Id left Camerons apartment, I pulled into another parking lot and dialed Seths cell phone. Surprise, surprise, it went straight to voice mail. That meant he was either working on someone or fucking someone, and I suspected it was the former, since Saturdays seemed to be his busiest days lately.
I set my phone on the passenger seat and turned on to the main road. I headed over to the Light District, which was the towns unofficial gay neighborhood. Seattle had Capitol Hill. San Francisco had the Castro District. Tucker Springs had the Light District.
The Light District was originally supposed to be a gathering place for authors, poets, musicians, and artists. Apparently it attracted those who thought they were Gods gift to the arts but didnt have the chops to crack it, and sometime in the early 1970s, someone in the literature department at Tucker U, the private university at the north end of town, dubbed the neighborhood Hacktown. Or maybe the nickname came from the eccentric bazillionaire DeMarco Hackney, whod singlehandedly revitalized the area from the crumbling slums it had become in the 1960s. Either way, the nickname stuck.
Most of the wannabe artists had moved out, and somehow this had become the heart of Tucker Springs gay community.
At ten oclock on a Saturday morning, this part of the neighborhood wasnt all that busy. Once the shops and breweries opened around the cobblestone town square and along the narrow side streets, the place would be crawling with locals and tourists alike. For now, it was mostly deserted.
It was here, half a block from the town square and not far from the nightclub I owned, that Seth had set up his tattoo shop. Sitting under a couple of loft apartments, Ink Springs fit in surprisingly well with the old style brick storefronts of the New Age shop and the used bookstore on either side. It didnt look like one of those shady, grungy shops in the more questionable parts of town—yes, even Tucker Springs had those parts of town—and Seth had gone for a tasteful sign that didnt stick out like a rock band T-shirt at a black tie gathering.
The “open” sign in the window was dim, but the shop lights were on. I parked between Seths beat-up red Chevy S10 and a gray sedan, then went to the door.
It was locked, but Seth looked up from working on the back of a guy lying facedown on one of the black leather tables. Seth gave a sharp nod and set his tattoo needle aside. He said something to his client, then came across the shop, peeling off his rubber gloves as he walked.
He turned the deadbolt and let me in. “Jason, wasnt expecting you.”
“Yeah, sorry to bug you,” I said as he locked the door behind me. “I, um, need the number for that