>Sitting on the patio on a spring evening. Behind me:”Not a date” first date boys. To the right: Two straight girls. Ahead of me: a very good friend, an empty table and a brick wall. The second floor is empty (storage?). Down the alley, the green line of the cultural trail leads past the adult shop at a boy bar… The same boy bar where K first heard of the Artisocrats (the documentary).
Watching as DB holds court with tales of silver balls and being late for work. Overhearing… Boys on fake date, girls talking about flowers and weddings. One of the boys says he hated San Francisco while he was there, but loved it when he left. One of the girls has a seven year old son. Seven years ago I was 25, almost 26, and was surprised to be alive. I always thought 25 was it. He says he needs a real date for Saturday. I think to myself that I need a real city where the cultural trail doesn’t pass a dusty toy shop. DB deserves better.
Waiting. Now I learn of nine-year cycle. I’m scared and excited. I look forward to next Sunday. One week from today, I get serious… After I take time to recuperate from this week’s events… The final push. Wish me luck.