by the time our relationship was coming to an end, we had moved closer to Central Park where the opportunites for anonymous sex were unlimited . . . if only Smokey could talk, i used to say, usually on nights when she got two walks . . . altho she never "got away from me" i do recall an evening when i picked up her leash, which i had dropped when i was having sex with somebody in a cul de sac, and found that she had dragged it thru shit . . . the perfect metaphor for my sex life, i thought having become the kind of guy who had sex more often standing up outdoors than in a bed . . . David and i weren't even sleeping together anymore and while there wasn't much rancor between us, i was surprised--and relieved--when he agreed to leave Smokey in my care after deciding to follow one of the chorus boys who had been fucking him to Florida . . . u know how she hates hot weather i pleaded . . . what i didn't mention was that Smokey had begun serving the same purpose for me that she had for him when he was hustling in Denver: an inexhaustible and non-judgmental source of affection.