Ireland and I are at Lily’s Nails—the premier budget polish salon on the west side, where the ladies are as professional, quick, and cheap as everyone imagines happy endings to be in Thailand. This is where Ireland recently met Tony: the man who delivered her first oral-stimulation orgasm. And this is where Ireland now gets her nails done every week, because Tony has a “thing” about nails.

“I don’t think I can ever break up with him,” she says, finishing her mimosa, which they serve at Lily’s every day ’til 2:00 p.m.—because every day is a holiday at Lily’s. It’s written in small print on the window.

I point to the dark purple nail polish on my elbow rest, and one of Lily’s girls—the one who has been scrubbing and buffing my feet for thirty minutes now—smiles in acknowledgement. She grabs it and starts applying.

“Strong words,” I say, “for a woman who used to call men who had better hygiene than her faggy.”

Ireland nods to another of Lily’s girls, who is carrying a fresh pitcher of mimosa. “That was before my clitoris experienced this.” Ireland grabs my forearm, wraps her lips around it, and starts sucking and flicking her tongue around…