Best friends, birthdays, and cuckolded partners--apparently gay guys had the same problems as straight guys. Just without the benefits of ever getting to see boobs. Asuma dug around in his pocket, found a battered carton with one lonely cigarette left, and sparked up. Smoke spiralled in a thin double-stream through his nose, making whispy patterns in the air.

"Well that sucks," he decided finally. "All of it. Especially the birthday bit. I hope you tore him a new one."

He decided not to mention that his own particular track record had seen him in and out of a few married woman's beds. As far as he was concerned, he was a damn sight better than most inattentive husbands--at least for a night--and that was what counted.

"And if you're basing my ability to kick ass on the last time you saw me, I should warn you, I'm at least at a nine year old skill level." He grinned, flicking a glowing fleck of ash from the end of his cigarette, and slid to his feet. "I don't know about you, but I need some real breakfast. And you clearly need to do something about your taste. What are the chances there's a strip joint in town with a decent buffet?"