The Dominican had left at around 12 and I was left to my own devices in my apartment.

I walked around a bit, tried to do some work and then took a call on my stoop from F. Toward the end of my conversation with her my neighbor, A arrived. I was pleased to see him. A and I are easy peasy with a conversational flow that simply works. He is like bathwater at the perfect temperature, I just slip in and it feels natural. He’s skin temperature.

To’ing and fro’ing about this and that I illustrated my recent love life: The Roast and The Beach Bum had gone badly wrong. Recently, I had avoided thinking about any reason for all this chaos but as soon as I hit skin temperature it poured out. They were crazy. Like, crazy “in love” with me so soon, so heavy, but really, they were crazy. The short time I spent with them had ended with shouting and name calling. On their part, not mine. I hadn’t really figured it out until A made a joke about it.

I can’t keep track of them all because you have 3 names for them

Neither can I

That’s why they’re so cross with you

Right.

You’re like a dude

It wasn’t the first time I’d heard it.

I’m not proud of it, I’m not glorifying in it; I just don’t care about it. It seems as though guarding the contents had become a full time occupation and now a lifestyle choice.

How sad. Or was it?

Hank walked by and didn’t even make eye contact. He was still cross with me for ditching him for The Dominican the night before. A new co conspirator; I pointed this out to A who, at first confused him for the Roast and then Marvin.

No. HANK!

Sheesh!

We looked at each other.

I’m like a dude with a vagina

There are worse things

And that was true.

 

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