Rose Gowen 5/Hour One night the musician wrote five new songs in one hour. He was so impressed with himself that he got out an old tee shirt and a black marker and wrote: Starfuckers Watch This Boy, on the front, and: 5/Hour, on the back. He wore the shirt to his next show, and after his set a girl came up to him and said, My girlfriend wants to know does your shirt mean you can fuck five people in one hour, or you charge five dollars an hour, or you can come five times an hour, or what? The musician looked where the girl was pointing, to her girlfriend who was standing by the bar. She was terrifying. He could tell just by looking at her that she was a girl who slept with boys, and girls, and girls and boys at once; her lovers ranged from the under-aged to the senior citizen; she was friendly with genitals of every shape, size, color; genitals with every known or unimagined mutilation, decoration, or deformity— natural or surgical; she had sexual skills beyond his most perverted dreams. She smiled at him. Tell her, the musician said, That I can make anyone come five times in one hour. They walked to her apartment. He measured his strides to match hers. She ran up the stairs to her building, and he followed two steps behind. When she opened the door, a thin gray cat snuck out, and slipped between her feet. Pussy! she said, How did you get out? Don't let her get away! The musician ducked to catch the cat, lost his footing, and tumbled down the stairs. At the emergency room they cut his tee shirt off him, and said he was lucky: he'd only fractured a rib. Quack