Last night started in the afternoon. I left the office earlier than usual. The security guard, Kenneth, who preferred to be called Black, gave me the brother hug which was unexpected yet nice when I left the fruit stand at 2pm. I rode the Path train back, surprised to see as many people riding at midday.

Bill phoned to let me know the cabaret was starting at 7pm instead of 8pm which was a source of consternation. I was planning on heading out around 6:30 or 7;00 and this changed things. I rallied though and was waiting for the bus at the proper time. The ride in was uneventful as I sat and stared out the window.

I did not anticipate the crowds once I was on the streets. Walking up Eightth avenue was maddening. So many tourists and me, walking behind them with steam coming out of my ears and belly button. I did make it to the sheep farm where Bill was performing. The building was locked so he had to come down and let me in.

The show was earnestly entertaining. They are good people, their hearts are in the right place and mostly have been doing some type of entertainment schtick for years. Bill had angled to be set towards the end and was third in the lineup. He played piano and sang Tom Waits ‘Picture in a Frame’ which is basically ’our song’

One of the performers sang Autumn Leaves, the French original song and the English version. My memory of the song is my Mother laughing hysterically when on the Uncle FLoyd SHow, there was a fake spider playing and singing Autumn Leaves on the piano.

He amazed many of his fellow members. I was introduced to some of them and apparently they thought I was British. And I told them I was actually Irish and one insisted that I was Scottish. The first time Mike met me, he too, thought I was a Brit. I noticed that sometimes I slip into some UK accent. Perhaps it’s from watching British movies and television. Or British music. Or UK music magazines.

I was just distracted by the past. Marsh and Mcllellan how Eric Edelman strung me along thanks to his ineptitude. It was a job I was willing to low ball my salary. I passed the criminal background but they never said anything about the drug test which I failed due to studying too hard.

Then there was the Shannon O’Connor yoga hole. The first time I met her I had remarked that we could be related since I had O’Connor blood in my veins. She was nonplussed. She lived in Hoboken and one time I went out of my way and did her a favor. There was another Shannon in the office and the guys in the office differentiated between the two Shannon’s by calling the other Shannon, Pretty Shannon

I don’t think Shannon O’Connor knew, but I was offended on her behalf. She’s still around, taking the Algerian teat. I am grateful we have never crossed paths, though I do feel sorry for her

Thursday afternoon. Quite gray. I am home, having taken a half day at work so I can go home and chill out before heading back into the city to see Bill sing a few songs at the end of a cabaret night his theater group is presenting.

It was an awkward day yet again at my little fruit stand today. I was in the belly yesterday and today I was not. A security guard was assigned to my floor and some co-workers were woefully unprepared, not in the least, me. The pretzel woman from a few posts before sent me a text saying he should be stationed at a podium with a chair next to it.

Pretzel woman did not realize that the podium and chair were removed a month or so during a purge that belly dwellers enacted when visiting my fruit stand. So they need to replace something they threw out. The security guard was nice enough. I was engrossed in my work and did not realize he was outside the building for almost an hour.

I brought him to the fruit stand, using the new method of swiping key cards to access various parts of the fruit stand. It was few minutes before he settled in. No one knows how long he will be at his post or even if someone else might replace him tomorrow or beyond that.

There was a computer program that was being updated on Friday but somehow my team and I were able to fulfill the requests that had been piling up for the past day or two. That is what occupied my work while the guard waited. It’s not like I was goofing off, I was actually working.

At 2:00 PM I was walking to the Path train and found a seat next to a Beyonce fan who had her bag on the vacant seat beside her. She did not like having to hold her bag because some older white guy wanted to sit there and she clattered her acrylic nails on her phone more than likely texting about my old white ass taking up space.

I didn’t mind and sat reading about Neil Young in Mojo magazine. I came home and saw RoDa for a minute. Bill was waiting outside the building as I came home, and we talked briefly, once again declaring our love before he headed into Manhattan and I climbed the stairs for a nap which I took for about 45 minutes.

Now here I sit, writing today’s post. It is expected to rain heavily which does not lift my spirits in happy anticipation. In fact I am wondering what footwear I should don into the city. This is love. Doing things that one would rather not, but will do to support the loved one, in this case- Bill. Time is moving slowly and the gray skies are not helping.

Mike’s beloved Wade is alive and well after almost 48 hours of not knowing anything about his whereabouts. It seems Wade’s phone was lost, which is much better than Wade dying.

This morning I had a dream which had my heart racing for some reason. I was going backstage where a play I had written was about to open and my friend Lois was freaking out for some reason, perhaps her ex friend and roommate was in the audience Lois was dressed as a lamp. I was prepared to take the stage in the dream but woke up instead.