She could see the end of her comfortable existence masquerading as a boy and earning her way as a sneak thief, entering the homes of the better off and carrying off small items of worth.Soon she would have to don the garb of women, or risk being stoned to death by irate mobs of bored crowds which thronged the streets from dawn to dark.The years of constant war had increased the incidents of casual violence, and chronic under employment and desperation had almost daily occurrences of pickpockets cut-purses, pilferers, thugees and looters torn to shreds by instant mobs, incited by a shout of “Thief!” No less could be expected for a cross-dresser of any sort.The town had changed hands dozens of times in the last hundred years, the crusaders tearing down the mosques, and the faithful burning the cathedrals, both destroying any minor temples of any lesser worship, giving the entire town the aspect of ruin and leading to general atheism, apathy and a waning hope for any sort of divine. So on this day it was just me and about a dozen classmates, chasing formulae like they were butterflies. Fortunately we were wrapping things up by the time Sam came in, because he brought everyone's concentration to a sudden crashing halt. The two of us had taken up an evening running habit, and he was in his gear and ready to go. And by his gear I mean a scanty pair of running shorts and some Adidas. He looked like a six foot three inch heroic Greek statue, in onyx instead of marble. Every head swiveled, every conversation paused. “You know,” said the girl next to me on the couch, a blonde midwesterner named Taylor, “it's like sixty five degrees. I don't think your roommate is shirtless to stay cool.” “Are you kidding?” I said, in a voice loud enough for Sam to hear. “If they put a big Navy “N” on a thong, this dude would wear it running.” “And you'd wear it to inspection,” Sam said with a grin. “Fuck your chin, they'd be checking your bikini line for stubble.” “Yeah, maybe,” I said.
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