It’s been a weekend. Had a dream that had Patrick Morrissey in it. I was telling him I saw his former boyfriend, the late Alphonso Portillo. Patrick who in real life is a skinny thing was quite buff in this dream. What it meant, I can’t tell you.

Bill was on the road, near the Cape. Mike was supposed to stay until Sunday night left and early Saturday afternoon due to a phone call from his parole officer who still has not shown up.

I’ve been watching Ted Lasso on and off the past few days. It returns to TV on Wednesday, and Bill and I have plans to watch again. Yesterday was a bike ride to Liberty State Park once again. According to Google, I did 15 miles. According to my odometer, I did roughly 14 miles. It was an enjoyable ride.

On my return I went to the supermarket to buy items I had forgotten about on Saturday. And even then I forgot something. Meanwhile, at the fruit stand, I sent a message to Yancy that went unanswered. I also sent an email that was answered.

I was merely inquiring about whether or not I would be going to the big fruit stand since Yancy did phone me last week telling me that those visits would be put on hold for a while. He seemed all sniffy about my asking when all I wanted was clarification for what he said, and I did want it in writing.

Leave it to Yancy to toss off whatever good feeling and concern I had for him last week. It means nothing to me anyhow. This morning was a deluge of rain. Not like a week or so ago when I was on my own going to the supermarket and getting soaked no matter how I tried to stay dry.

And now after about 4 hours I am somewhat drier than I was when I showed up at the fruit stand this morning. I just finished my lunch break. I had leftovers from Saturday and it was good; penne, pesto and chicken. It kept well and was just as good cold as it was warm for dinner on Saturday night.

It’s funny, I feel good about the fruit stand most of the time and then other times I feel anxious and today it’s anxious. Last week was not anxious, in fact I was happy. I spoke to Jimmy Chile, and he related very much to the subject and the message that spilled forth from Yancy.

Bill is running around and plans on being home tonight. That means after 15 minutes of love and reunion I will humorously tire of what he has to say and tell him to shut the fuck up.

He knows and expects it as do I. It’s our routine. Then he will go to bed where I will soon join him, happy to get a good night of sleep since I always sleep better when Bill is in bed.

I have been thinking of writing about these characters from 46 years ago.They were a part of my life back then, we all worked for the book company, HBJ- the warehouse in Saddle Brook NJ. 2 out of 3 were somewhat influential in my life and not necessarily in a good way.

First there was Laszlo Papp. We shared September 12 as a birthday. Laszlo was a few years older than me. My mother described him once as a good kid then came back to work wearing a Vivienne Westwood cheesecloth t-shirt, labelled ‘Destroy’ with a swastika on it. He wasn’t endorsing Nazis, just in it for the shock value.

Laszlo was a good looking guy in the Paul Simenon from the Clash mold. He would go to Manhattan on weekends and I would give him $5.00 to pick up various singles I had heard on WPIX FM. He soon got tired of doing that and suggested that I just go with him.

So with little apprehension, I joined him. That was an adventure, I was seeing parts of Manhattan that I had never been to before, mainly the Village, both the East and West Village. The record stores were in the East Village, St Mark’s Sounds and Free Being.

Laszlo had a ‘thing’ for a girl named Debbie Robinson. Laszlo lived in Elmwood Park, and Debbie lived in the next town, Saddle Brook. Debbie would join Laszlo and me on occasional trips to the Village. One time, Laszlo needed a round metal ring for his leather jacket.

The only place he could get such an item, a cock ring actually, was the Leatherman on Christopher Street in the West Village. That was my first visit to that Gay mecca. Laszlo, Debbie and I walked down West Fourth Street towards Seventh Avenue South.

As we passed a sidewalk cafe, two men stood up and started pointing at me and yelling ‘Jesus’. I quickened my pace, Laszlo and Debbie unaware, as far as I knew. As the light changed on the avenue, the two men appeared in front of me and started pinching my cheeks on my face, then running away. That was a baptism of sorts for me. Had I arrived? Am I blushing, or was it just my pinched cheeks?

Laszlo was not the only one who had designs on Debbie Robinson. Perry Dedovitch was very interested in her as well. I was friends with Laszlo and Perry in varying stages of ‘cool’. Laszlo was hip and I depended on his opinion for some things musical.

Perry played guitar and was into the Beatles. Laszlo drank and Perry smoked weed. I learned about weed from Perry. Perry was a handsome guy and I soon developed a man crush on him. Nothing sexual, I thought he was fun and cool and had a good vibe.

Perry and I drove from Lodi, NJ to Canoga Park, CA in 1991. There was a plan to move out there but for me when I realized that was what everyone did, I changed my mind. And it was not as easy as I imagined anyhow. That is a whole ’nother story.

Laszlo was always sniffing around but Debbie eventually decided Perry was more of a sure thing. One night Debbie and I were on the phone and she was asking if Perry was gay. She had made some moves, some overtures on Perry, who, to her, seemed oblivious. I never considered that Perry was gay. I knew his brother Darren was gay and we hung out once or twice. Darren swore me to secrecy about his sexuality, and I kept it to myself.

The night of Debbie’s phone call, Perry and I did what we usually did. Drive around and get high. I guess Perry enjoyed my company; why else would he hang out with me? With both of us being stoned, I asked him if he was straight. I knew it was ambiguous, and when he said he was feeling high, I said I meant sexually.

Then I told him that I was not straight in any sense of the word. That blew Perry’s mind, and an awkward trip to his home to drop him off followed. As he was getting out, I asked that even if he was bothered by my revelation, he keep it to himself.

He could not. He told Debbie, who told two friends and so on and so on, like the shampoo commercial that was popular at the time. The next time I was at the warehouse where my mother worked in the offices, I found half the people who were my friends were no longer my friends.

Bill Wrice was resolute in his friendship. Others dropped me and stared at me with disdain and disgust. Kevin Wagner, whom I have written about previously, was upset that I did not trust him enough to tell him.