I take a deep breath and say, “Jinny Kidwell.”

“Whoa,” Richie says. “Oh, shit. Yeah, okay, you win.”

We sit there grinning like monkeys flinging shit through a cage, thinking about pounding Jinny Kidwell.

Yeah, that Jinny Kidwell, the twenty-five million per movie one.

“What else would you wish for?” Mike says.

“I get Jinny Kidwell for one night?” Richie says, “I don’t need nothin’ else. Game over. I die a happy man.”

“Yeah,” Mike says, “but in addition to sleeping with Jinny Kidwell, say you can have anything in the world.”

I realize Mike is talking to me.

“What,” I say, “You mean like a genie grants me three wishes?”

“Yeah, like that. Only let’s say it’s four wishes. What would you ask for?”

“Easy. A million bucks.”

Mike takes a hit, holds it, then exhales loudly. “Okay, sure. But then what?”

“What, a million bucks and sex with Jinny Kidwell ain’t enough for you?”

“Not if I got two more wishes coming. What else would you wish for?”

“Wait,” I say. “Where’s this bullshit coming from?”

Richie and Mike look at each other.

Mike says, “We found this website called Wish List. It’s like a survey. You type in your wishes and they compile them and tell you the most popular ones. It’s updated every day.”

“This is guys only, right?” I say. “’Cause chicks are gonna put down stupid shit.”

I don’t normally talk this way in real life. Mike and Richie probably don’t either. But when we’re together we talk the way we used to, growing up in the South End. It’s comfortable. We’re hard working guys, stuck in dead-end jobs. We’re a hell of a lot smarter than we sound on afternoons like this when we’re passing a joint around, shooting the shit.

“There’s a guy list and a chick list,” Richie says.

“You guys fill it out?”

“Naw,” Richie says. “But it’s fun to think about.”

Mike says, “I did.”

We look at him like, no shit?

“Yeah, I filled it out. It’s just a flippin’ survey, right?” He shrugs his shoulders. “What’s the big deal?”

Lissie’s home now. From the kitchen, we hear her shout, “Buddy? Want to help me with dinner?”

Richie grabs his crotch and says, “I’d like to help her with dinner!”

Mike says, “Jesus, Richie, show some respect. She’s Buddy’s wife!”

I glance at Mike, thinking there’s something weird in the way he said it, like he was really pissed. Hey, if anyone should have been angry…

“Hey, sorry man,” Richie says. “It’s the weed. You know I’m just acting out.”

“Bygones,” I say.

Mike stares at me a long moment, then stubs out the joint, puts the butt in his pocket, and stands up. Gives me a bro hug and says, “Check it out: Wish List.bz.