Bobby Risotto and I have a history. One of the last dreams this morning had me sneaking through the backdoor of Maxwell’s since I had a key. There was some function going on, a wedding party I think.

I ran into Ann Boyles which was fun and asked her what she was doing there since she currently resides in Georgia. I don’t recall what she said in return but I wound up hanging around her as I sat at my former spot at the end of the bar where I used to check Identification and stamp hands so they could drink.

Steve Fallon made an appearance and why not, since it was his club during my tenure. And most surprising was seeing Bobby Risotto. That is an alias of sorts since Bobby Risotto’s real name popped up years ago when he was still closeted and hiding from his Mum, Gloria and Bobby insisted that I change his name and not post photos from the holiday party that he had with his then-boyfriend the exquisitely named Gregoire.

I acceded to his wishes without a problem. In the dream, he was walking by and I was concerned enough to fix his velvet collar which was askew. He seemed to appreciate it. In my waking hours, I was going through my emails, sending resumes out to whatever seemed feasible.

And there was a message that Bobby Risotto was posting about a position at some double helix company. I followed the link and figured ‘Why not’? It offered a salary that was more than Barry McGarry and I really had nothing to lose. If it proceeds, great. If not, then oh well.

There is a history with Bobby Risotto. We first crossed paths 22 years ago, working for what I called Wanker Banker but in reality was Putnam Lovell NBF. It was a good job, a suit & tie job that paid well. Bobby Risotto was my supervisor and we occasionally bumped heads.

He left the firm after a couple of years and I left sometime after that. We did keep in touch, enough to be invited to his holiday party in the Newport neighborhood of Jersey City. Alas, I was more rambunctious than his other guests, my humor too crass for his bourgeois friends.

Bobby Risotto and I did work together again in 2014 at the terribly silly Neuralgia Management Company. Bobby was bullied by his supervisor and since shit rolls downhill, Bobby Risotto bullied me. Some awful things he had done which were unforgivable.

Enough that when he was having his going away dinner I opted out. He asked why and I explained the things he did and that it would be hypocritical to celebrate his terrible management methods. Despite that, we still maintained some sort of contact.

In November when I had an interview in midtown I passed a restaurant with his surname on the window. I took a photo and sent it to him and he replied in a humorous way. So now, he posts a position and I took the bait.

What happens from this point is anyone’s guess. Will Bobby Risotto be the better man or just a bowl of creamy cooking rice? The ball is in his court and the ladle is on the cooking pot.

Today was alright. Nothing too heavy. I only thought about the last job briefly, no dwelling on it allowed. I thought about K Amundsen—a nice kid. I was intimidated by him, I thought he had some seniority over me. He didn’t. We worked alongside each other doing wholly unrelated things.

I have to laugh when I think back to when we were first working in the same area. He was wearing clunky black glasses which made him look a lot like Lea DeLaria. The office culture that exists today would not allow an open comparison to say aloud, so I kept it to myself.

We connected on Broadway shows. He was living with his parents on Staten Island so his expenses were low and he could afford to see a Broadway show or two a month. I envied that in him somewhat.

And he had loving parents, younger than mine were. His parents seemed to be understanding and supportive of their obviously queer son. K was of the generation that calls themselves queer, whereas my generation was gay and queer was a slur to us.

It’s a generational thing, Man.

It’s been a good day. Bill was on the road after not being on the road for a while. It stresses him out which in turn, stresses me out. Then it becomes alternate days of the blues and accompanying depression. He’s been handling things fairly well and I do my best to accommodate him when he sinks to the depths of despair.

Despite being a solo act most of the day I met up with Mike. We speak or rather text almost every day and I made it a point to see him this afternoon. He’s moving to his new crib his week, on Friday and Saturday. He needed a few items including an air mattress since an actual mattress is not in his current budget.

I decided to cash in a Target gift card that I had gotten a while ago that was soon to expire and bought him an air mattress. The plan was to meet up and have a walk and talk as he was going to get the Path train at Grove Street in Jersey City.

But the air mattress was in a cumbersome box that was heavy and though the skies had been a little bit cloudy with sun, by the time we were to meet the heavens were going to open. So, no walk and talk, just a handoff for an unwieldy box, and then I sent him on his way.

It was funny when I called Mike about the change of plans. I had to keep reassuring him that nothing was bad, in fact, it was something that he would actually like, but the walk and talk was a no-go.

And though it did not rain on me when I was walking home, Bill reported rain in Staten Island and Mike had it raining on him when he was en route to Newark.