Jack Varner. Five years before, I would have called Jack my best friend. The lights dimmed and the curtain rose. Debbie clutched my arm, and whispered something I didn’t understand. It had been five years since I last spoke to Jack. A spotlight, a full moon over Venice. Our friendship dissolved without a word. Iago crept along the narrow streets of the stage.
Lord Malinov, Flowers of Malinov