Doug remembers the taste of the coconut rum.
He remembers the couch, the green corduroy and how it felt itchy on his skin.
He remembers the DVDs on the shelf in the corner, organized alphabetically and by case color.
Every time it was the same: the tidy living room, the most current Playboy on the coffee table, the one or two drinks.
But he tried to forget the rest: the grown man’s sexual advances, the touching that came after the man turned off the lights.
