Once again, the story goes. Bill is on his way back home today. I certainly hope things go according to plan. The plan is ever changing. Mike was supposed to come over last night and be around when Bill drives by with his bus to drop off his luggage.But Mike has an appointment with an agency that provides support to him.
They sometimes cancel at the last minute so that has to be taken into consideration.

So Bill will have to handle all that on his own. I am at the fruit stand once again. I thought I would be assigned to the belly once more but not this week. Next week will be a repeat of last, in the belly Monday to Thursday. And at this moment I do not have the anxiety that is usually attached.

Right now the anxiety that exists is mainly from Yancy being meddlesome. Things are getting handled without his interference but I suppose he has to justify whatever it is that he is doing.I almost took the day off. I knew Bill was going to need some help and I could have done that. And I didn’t sleep that well last night. As I drifted off to sleep I remembered that I needed to get the door pass to the housekeeper. I usually place it somewhere but didn’t and only remembered when my head was hitting the pillow.

An extra hour would have been nice and being able to help Bill would have more than likely dispelled the guilt that accompanies staying home from work. Cocteau Twins are playing right now. The album TREASURE. It’s the album that I link to Jet Watley, as he played the record quite often when we lived together at 201 Madison Street. It was a fun and awkward time and lasted longer in my mind than it did in real time.
Jet was a wonderful friend.

Juan was another wonderful friend. Both have left their mortal coils much too soon. Juan was someone I met on gay dot com. A website that no longer exists.Juan had just turned 18 or was about to. A lot of guys would not have anything to do with him because of the age thing. We both liked a lot of the same music and had similar senses of humor.

It wasn’t sexual though we did fool around maybe once or twice. And I think he was in love with me though I didn’t realize it at the time. Julio noticed it I think, calling Juan ‘Lamont Cranston’ as in The Shadow. And I didn’t notice it then either.

Juan was living with his parents in Union City and would come to hang out with me and Bill. Bill didn’t smoke pot but Juan and I sure did. Like Jet, Juan turned me onto a lot of good music. Jet had access from when he worked at Tower Records and Juan had access from being a young, hip person.

After months or maybe years, Juan was gets tired of just hanging out at my crib and made overtures to go to a bar in Jersey City. I always resisted since I was already comfortable in my crib and very stoned. Juan went and insisted but it never came to be.

Eventually Juan met Michael Cullen, a school administrator who loved to shoot up crystal meth on weekends. They lived together in Leonardo NJ and from what I gathered it was not the best time for Juan. Michael Cullen hid Juan’s hiv meds, at least that was what Juan told me.when sending me pharmaceutical labels and syringes as well as bloody straps used for shooting up.

Juan eventually escaped Michael Cullen’s clutches and was back in Hudson County. he turn3d himself around, travelled to India and graduated college. He also had a job waiting tables that he actually loved, despite his mother’s disdain, seeing him as another El Salvadoran working in a restaurant.

Juan and I went to some concerts, art galleries and met up at the Met one time. Eventually we drifted apart. He was young and wanted to get out and enjoy life and I had enough of that and just wanted to stay home and watch tv.

The last time I saw Juan was when I was working at Trader Joe’s in Hoboken. It was fleeting and I flouted the pandemic rules, taking off my mask and giving him a hug and a kiss. We said the adult thing about meeting up and getting together neither one of us knowing it was the last time.

I went about my business and eventually left Trader Joe’s and worked for a restaurant that had the misfortune of opening up during a pandemic. Then I worked for Barry McGarry. It did look into getting Juan a job there but obviously it would not have been a good idea.

September came and went and I didn’t notice the lack of a birthday greeting until Juan’s birthday approached in November. For some reason I looked Juan up on Google, and the first thing that came up was his obituary. I was floored. He passed away five years ago today and I found out over a month after that in 2021.

It felt like he died twice. His mother, who he had butted heads with, posted heartbreaking messages about her only son. There was a memorial service but I found out too late. I read that Juan and his mother sang Hey Jude as he passed away. Juan would have mocked me for such.a thing but he got a pass.

Juan passed at 33. I’m not sure when Jet passed but I would be comfortable with 33 I’m sure he would too..

Juan Miguel Rosales Jr.
November 03, 1987 – September 29, 2021

This is where it starts, or where it started. I am guessing 1982, my father took the family out to dinner in Hoboken. It was my first visit to the mile square city. I spent the afternoon buying clothes and records in the east village on St. Mark’s Place. Then I drove back to Lodi, changed my clothes and drove back to Hoboken. I didn’t really have much of an idea of where I should be going, but somehow I figured it out.

I’m not sure if it was called Sinatra Drive back then but as I made the turn around the bend, I was taken aback by the majesty of downtown Manhattan. The Twin Towers were impressive. I found a parking spot and soon joined my family for a nice Italian Dinner at Gerrinos at First and River Streets

My brother Frank had started going to Hoboken regularly, and it seemed this club called Maxwell’s was in the New York Times every week. The family dinner was on a Saturday, and the following Monday, at my job driving into Manhattan twice a day, I took a detour through Hoboken.

That Monday morning I was driving down Washington Street and at 7th and Washington by Village Market I saw this dandy in a mustard colored blazer. I knew he was gay, and flamboyant. And no one seemed interested in him, no one was denigrating him. He was a local peacock going about his business unharried.

I’m fairly certain that was a deciding factor in my moving to Hoboken. I had seen The Bongos live at the Meadowbrook in Cedar Grove and liked them very much. So much so I had blisters on my hands because I had been pounding the stage with my hands.

It turned out that The Bongos were a local band from Hoboken and played Maxwell’s frequently. Although The Bongos were my favorite, I do remember initially going to see The Individuals with Frank at Danceteria in Manhattan, just a block or two from where I am writing this. I liked the Individuals, but the Bongos had better songs.

I eventually made it to Maxwell’s on my own. I was intimidated by everything. I ordered a Coca-Cola from Martha, who was bartending, and I tried to be invisible. I don’t think I spoke to anyone, and I am not sure if I made it into the back room to see the band.

Obviously I kept going back. Living with my parents enabled me to have some cash and could afford Maxwell’s though I was drinking sodas and usually was not charged for them.

Sometime after that, I met Rand and Jose. They worked in the midtown Manhattan offices, where I made my twice daily trips. I noticed them from a distance and was alarmed by the fact they were behaving a lot like me. I found out they lived in Hoboken, and I asked if they went to Maxwell’s. They knew of Maxwell’s but found it too expensive, so they usually hung out at 923 Garden Street or 1105 Washington Street.

Jose lived at 202 Monroe Street, where Bill Wrice and I went to a party. Bill and I worked for the same book publisher that Rand and Jose worked at. I met Peter Missing at Jose’s party. Back then I thought it was a big deal, nowadays not so much.

I soon fell into this group of college graduates. I thought they were very intelligent and they did too. They also thought I was relatively smart as wee or so I would like to think. Many good times were had. Weed was smoked, films were made, powders ingested. I preferred the white pony whereas some enjoyed the white horse.

One time I introduced Jet Watley to these college graduates. Things were going well as far as I could tell, winding up at a bar on 7th Street in the East Village where one of the graduates, the “cook,” overdosed on the white horse and started turning blue. I didn’t see it myself, but Jet told me what he saw as this college graduate “cook” was carried out to the street where he recovered.

Jet was not impressed and might have been worried for my well-being after meeting the college graduate who turned blue from an overdose. He needn’t have worried since I was and still am against that particular substance.