Subtle rebuttals. That was a line from the New York Times this morning about King Charles replying to L’Orange Merde. It is now Wednesday, the last Wednesday of April 2026. I am sitting at the major fruit stand, leaving my modest fruit stand alone, left to fend for itself. I know it can, it should be no problem Yancy floats around, Janis is to my right, Kimberly a few floors above my head. There is a new fruit stand attendee today, Violeta is the name we bless her with this morning.

Bill returned last night. Some mental adjustments must be made. Mike was outstanding the past week or so, and I found myself missing him and our interactions. He really stepped up and made everything go smoothly. A few good talks were had, embraces and cuddles were sought after and attained. Things have progressed since last year where sometimes were greatly unpleasant. The Gemini effect where Mike was fine with Bill, but with myself Mike was filled with animus.

For some reason, I was drawn to something from 47 years ago. Three people I went to school with died in a car crash after attending the Prom in 1979. I didn’t really know them. The driver and 2 girls were killed, a fourth passenger lived. This was before the time of mandatory seatbelts and the fourth passenger may have been sitting behind the driver. I remember Henry Venegas was going with his girl, Lisa. I left them that evening at the Texaco station with darkening skies above and my remarking that I was not going to Prom since I had seen the movie Carrie and knew how it ended. No shading.

I find myself looking back at those four years at Paramus Cathoolic and astounded by how little I learned. Somehow I muddled through and had to go to summer school just once and that was for history since the history teacher figured out that when Jim Carley, John Nesselt or myself would yell ‘Hey Abbott’, chubby Mr. Ward knew that we were mocking him like he was Lou Costello from the Abbott and Costello cartoons. Fuck Mr Ward and his chubby fat ass.

Mike just called. The inflatable mattress (3rd or 4th) has sprung a leak. Mike was over for almost a week and a half, and the inflatable mattress was untouched. The moment Mike returns, it springs a leak. And Mike’s finances are somewhat messy right now, so he’s trying to figure something out, and I am playing the role of shoulder to lean on.

Looking at a fruit stand directory and finding many young women are named Tiffany. I am listening to Vitesse X, a young woman not named Tiffany that works at the fruit stand. Ethereal, would’ve fit in nicely on 4AD if she was around 40 years ago. Such is life. The record is very good. Her name is actually Jordan Stern and she is incredibly talented.

I first talked to her about seeing Paul McCartney live. She’d seen him before, probably more than the 2 times I had.

At the desk once again, listening to old school reggae. It is one of my favorite genres of music. Julio and I bonded over it, the Rastas- Poncho, Jesse and Marcus listened to it frequently though I think Jesse preferred more recent music like dancehall which is not a favorite of mine. I was so head over heels in love with reggae, specifically old school reggae that a few mix tapes were made. Mick Hucknall from Simply Red created a record label in the UK called Blood & Fire which released quite a few deep cuts of dub versions from the 1970s, which I collected whenever I came across a release.

Bill is on his way home, travelling through Virginia at the moment. Mike was supposed to go back to his crib last night, but Bill requested he stay one more night so Mike could help Bill with his luggage from this past 3-week trip. Mike was fine with it, he said he would be honored to help. And when I get home, I guess I will arrange for a Lyft for Mike to go back to his crib.

Tomorrow, if the main fruit stand action so, a good night of sleep will be warranted beforehand. I slept really well though I do wake up intermittently to see what time it is. That does not make for an easy night of sleep though going back to sleep is not that difficult. I’ve been trying to go to bed around 10:30 PM and sometimes open an eye around 12:30 AM and realize I had not slept for many hours, only 2 or so. This happens every couple of hours, increasing when I get closer to the actual time for the alarm clock to go off.
This morning I woke up before the alarm clock because I did not see the point of sleeping for five more minutes when it would not be that relaxing to do so.

Listening to Cocteau Twins right now. Tomorrow, depending where I am sitting and with whom I am sitting, I will more than likely have no say in the music that is played. It’s all through the fruit stand app and the music that is chosen is current and I know very little about it. It does not bother me, it’s just endless and unknown. The music I listen to is like comfort food to me.

I used to have people like Juan in my life who would turn me on to new music, or music I hadn’t heard before. Now Mike is like that. He uses music in his videos, and I have to ask, who is playing? It’s usually more than likely an instrumental version, and I am fine with that. It is not the antagonism I used to feel when other people would suggest music to me.

It is my lunch hour and it is 1:21 p.m. . I am outside having a small cigar and been snacking all day so I think I will forgo lunch. I look at the corner of West 16th Street and 5th avenue and I am nearly 100% certain that that corner was where I had separated from my parents and my brother Brian in the 1970s, that summer day when my parents were looking at furniture at a showroom.

They continued walking as I stood on the corner and talked to someone I had never known before, could have been homeless, could have been crazy. Nothing bad happened except my parents being very upset that I would separated from them and they made sure that it was not going to happen again at least not that day