Saturday, November 19, 2011

Meeting Men in Bulletproof Bodegas

A nice looking young man eyed me up and down. His head nodded once slowly as he scanned down to my feet, and up again to the top of my head. He glanced sideways and took in the bicycle as well.

"Out of everything," he smiled; paused. "I like the sweatshirt the best."

"Out of everything," I thought to myself "I like getting attention from attractive young men the most."

Intoxicated by his innocent gaze, my mind drifted to an alternate plane. 

He was there for beer. He could have been there for lottery tickets or blunt wraps, but I'd bet he walked out with six tall blue ribbons. He didn't look bad himself. Maybe a few years younger with a dark few-weeks-old beard. He stood with a calm confidence, and I knew that he wouldn't steal my wallet.

I didn't say anything. I stepped toward him - two long paces - and stood with my face almost touching his. I reached out to touch his shoulder and moved my hand down slowly along his back. I pulled him toward me and kissed his mouth forcefully.

"You're fucking right, you like this sweatshirt."

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