It was a pretty good weekend. Hanging with Rand and Julio on Friday, Connie and Jennifer on Saturday and Bill on Sunday. Everything went well. Nothing planned. The good feeling carried over to today. A lot of people out today, perhaps all week. That was great.

The encounter with Bill was definitely not planned though I did try to instigate something on Saturday afternoon. He’s phobic about having sex before driving a bus, he feels he will kill himself and the passengers if he did. So perhaps I saved close to 60 lives. Yeah right.

I told him that we have a lot going for us, and sex is just sex. I’ve had it, hoped I wouldn’t look for it again, but it seems I might have to. It’s a lot like keys. You have your keys, but somewhere down the line you will misplace them. If you find them, great. But sometimes there is a good chance that you might need a new key or even a whole new lock.

And maybe the locksmith is a hot guy, like the cross between George Clooney and Colin Farrell. Or just resembles one of the two, I’m not picky. And he’s horny and hot….

I wake up in a cold sweat and stumble to the refrigerator for a swig of diet 7Up. The cold tile floors bring me to an irritated state of consciousness. I see a few empty Heineken bottle and Guinness cans. Ashtrays overflow with stale Gauloises.

I walk into the bathroom and take a piss while looking in the mirror. I always think I look good when I’m wasted. I’m that detached from my persona, it’s like a vacation from me.

I’m handsome, witty and a touch decadent.

I wake up under a pillow. The cat has clawed my arm trying to roust me from bed so I can feed him. When I shoo him off the bed, he goes into the next room and caterwauls. But he sounds almost human. It sounds like he’s saying ‘Hello’. Which is endearing in a frightening way.

I stumble out of bed and walk into the kitchen and find there is no fucking cat food. I realize that I am truly an idiot. I was in the store last night and walked right by the cat food. Nothing. Not even dry food that I shouldn’t give him since he’s been fixed. I remember I have a can of tuna in the fridge. The cat will eat well, once the tuna in his bowl warms to room temperature. No, he’s impatient and hungry. He’ll eat the damn thing cold.

I wake up in the Lincoln Tunnel. The New Yorker magazine from 3 weeks ago is at my feet. The bus is crowded, people standing in the aisle. I sit in the back, next to the wheel well. Whoever wants to sit next to me will sit on top of the wheel well. Not very comfortable, but roomy.

No one wants to sit next to me. I pick up the New Yorker and go back to sleep.