Conrad was on the phone to his girlfriend when I went in, so I chatted to his roommate until he finished. Then he gave me his full attention, a personable, handsome, black, open-faced man who answered my form questions easily. He had been out of jail for a month, and since then in rehab lockup until a week ago.

The form filling didn’t take long and he asked if I wanted something to drink. It was after six on Friday, my last visit of the week, so I said I must go. He again asked me to stay a while and chat. He even added, “You want a shower – or a massage?”

“Well,” I said, “it is 110 outside so the shower sounds good, but I’ll wait ‘til I get home.”

“You got a boyfriend?”

“No, I said, surprised, “got any suggestions?”

His room-mate laughed and Conrad asked, “Can I ask you out for a date, dinner maybe, or is that against the rules?"

I looked at the fact-sheet given me by the office. “Wait a minute, it’s says here that you’re heterosexual”.

He gave a loud, white-toothed laugh. “Well they got that wrong”.

“Evidently”, I said.

As my mind added up – bi-sexual, fresh out of jail, fresh out of detox, in rehab and referred by a by-the-book recovery house – well, you do the math.

“I’m afraid it is against the rules”, I said, “but thanks for the offer”.

“You won’t change your mind about that shower?”

“No, thanks, really gotta go. But I’ll look in when I’m next in the area.”

“I’ll look forward to it”.

A big bear handshake, a broad white-toothed grin, and I was gone.

It really was 110 outside. As I drove away down the baking street I looked back at the quiet suburban house, draped in bourganvilla.