Jo has been obscurely ogling the delicious, dapper dandy in the pinstriped navy suit for a queer quarter hour. He’s quaffing whisky; whisky-tippling men – Jo’s great weakness. Jo doesn’t feel the faintest guilt for his lurid lust. After all, he’s just having sex with Kwame; they aren’t married; can’t be, right? Jo brings his mind back to the bar. He’s unable to approach the delectable drake. Somehow, one cannot approach the same sex the way one does the opposite sex.