I lift the camera up as I film the hypnotic show of the stranger sucking on Luke’s cock like it’s the last penis in the world. Luke grins at me, laughing a little, “I can’t believe we actually picked up a prostitute on 34th street!”
“How’s he doing?”
“Fook! He’s amazin’! You wun’t believe how god this feels! Keep filmin’ filmin’ I wanna remember this burthday forever.”
“Right mate! Of course! Yeah suck that cock, boy!” I shift the camera to my other hand and let the tape roll.

It goes on for another hour – blowjobs, handjobs, fingering, sex. Then we collapse in the back of his van on blankets and pass around cigarettes and beer in glass bottles. The boy was paid generously.

Five years after this, Luke was killed in a car accident when an out of control lorry struck his van. We took a lot of video together, of our trips, our stupid foolish exploits around the UK, holidays, birthdays, nights at the bar, even trips to the dentist, the grocery store. Out of the entire stack of tapes, this one is him with the prostitute is my favorite. He just looks so incredulously happy, so alive. I watch it every year on his birthday and wank one out in memory of him. We were odd friends, but it was the most solid friendship I’d ever had. I miss him dearly. I never watch the tape of his funeral.

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Post is fictional.