The camouflage vest feels like adulthood.
Makes him feel important, makes him feel like Batman—
and makes his muscles look fuckin’ ripped,
if he may say so himself.
The halls are full of chatter and introductions,
bending spoons and reading minds.
When Dominic mentions the strain of
pulling emotional echoes from the auras
of metal objects, everyone nods and laughs.
The thrill of relatability has never before been his.
The combat boots
are a little big.
Hazing and laughter, and the
cold sting of the cement floor in the morning.
Curfews are for the weak.
Dominic earns dozens of push-ups from
from stealing underwear from drawers,
from snapping towels at Arizona's ass.
Making cracks about Julie's ass,
and getting thrown across the room,
and then getting yelled at for the hole in the wall,
which really wasn't his fault.
No one can get the jump on Keith's ass.
Seers are no fun.