I do enjoy the extra hour of sleep once a month. The fruit stand meeting is this morning and I find myself waiting and there are way too many people fucking around at this hour. I am not used to it at all. A good point is that the bagels were cooled enough that I did not have a greasy bagel but rather, a buttered bagel.

Due to a problem at Penn Station, trains have been diverted to Hoboken making the train very crowded. On a Friday when it’s not supposed to be so crowded. And I went in a little bit later since the fruit stand meeting was scheduled. I thought I had set up the alarm on my phone but I didn’t, which is just as well since my alarming paranoia woke me up at 7:20 AM which is an hour later than the usual wake up time.

The meeting was the first in a few months since Yancy canceled last month’s meeting. Kimberly, Janis, Yancy and Violeta and Me. Basically, the meeting could have been a zoom call, or an email. But neither of those provides an extra hour of sleep so I just keep my mouth closed.

My sister is in Japan with her husband and my brother is in Knoxville TV with his wife to see a southern boogie rock band. Annemarie and Rex are on vacation, and I guess Brian & Karen are as well but they’re following a mediocre rock band. I am not a fan of Southern boogie rock music so I am guessing they are mediocre.

I never cared for that music. The Allman Brothers leave me cold and don’t get me started on Lynrd Skynard. There is maybe one song in the genre that I like and it’s more of a pop song by 38 Special called Hold on Loosely. I only know the song from the days when there was a thing called MTV.

So these young men wearing dresses and makeup looking a bit coming in, I guess I’ve always felt this way but having moved away from their parents and into Manhattan or wherever they are able to be their true selves. And I suppose they’re true selves involve wearing dresses and makeup and whatnot. It doesn’t affect me, it’s their life. I wish them all the best. I hope they find themselves safely and without trouble.

Staring down the barrel of 23 minutes. It’s Friday, like I said, and there are 23 minutes left in the workday. I’m sure I could step out a few minutes early, but with the overcrowded PATH train, why bother? Listening to an ad hoc playlist featuring Reggae pop hits from the 90s. Marcus asked if I play this much Reggae at home, and I don’t. I play more rock & roll, which Bill is largely unfamiliar with.

Mike is at the apartment, off to the supermarket to get dinner. Chicken perhaps. That would be fine. It is laundry night so space will be limited in the kitchen. Bill was supposed to return on Sunday, but now his return may be Wednesday. And that is subject to change.

Snacking all morning, I went for a walk at lunchtime. While at a corner, waiting for the light to change, a guy sidles up to me, telling me to buy him something to eat. I gave him a look that said You must be joking. He saw the look and then said he was joking, following that up with a request for French fries.

I told him he was dressed better than me and he said he was going to an interview. I crossed the street and wished him well. I continued walking, and at half a city block away, I turned and saw he was following me. Perhaps not exactly, but walking in the same direction. It was unnerving enough that I crossed the street and walked, crossing back when I did not see him anymore.

It’s been that kind of day. Mike says he gets very nervous about his Dads, Me & Bill getting home safely. Mike would know the code of the streets better than we do, I reckon, and though I feel we would be OK, one can’t really tell.

Just last week, an elderly gent was walking down the subway stairs at 18th & 7th Avenue when he was kicked down the stairs by a deranged individual who had just been released from Bellevue earlier that day. The gentleman walking down the stairs was killed when pushed. Things tend to get worse during the hot summer months, and we are not in summer yet.

Dearest Rita refuses to take the subway anymore, and she’s been living in Manhattan for 50 years. She’s had enough. Not enough to move, where would she move to? She would rather not, so I think she will stay on her city block since everything she might need is within walking distance.

In totally unrelated news, I saw two trans people, within a minute of each other. Not sure if they were trans, they just might be young men who like to wear dresses and makeup. I just kept walking and kept to myself. It sure is a different world than it was when I was growing up.

And why shouldn’t it be different? How people dress and identify is not my concern, and I wish them well. This should have been done years ago, but things were too uptight. I have been indoctrinated and struggle with shaking that nonsense off as often as possible.

I’m sure I’d written about it earlier, perhaps not, but in Hoboken about 10 years ago, I saw an effeminate young man crossing the street opposite me. I saw him, and I got upset. Then I caught myself getting upset and realized my indoctrination needed to go.

I was ashamed by my initial reaction but the second reaction was to mind my own business, knowing this young man has a hard enough time, probably, and would not need me to add to that hard time.

I discussed it with a co-worker a week or so later and as I was telling my story, I started to cry. I remembered being slapped if my wrist was just a little bit limp.

Looking up a name in the fruit stand directory, I notice a few young men named Dalton. WTF?