Back at my original fruit stand, or at least where I’ve been for the past couple of months. I’ve been texting with Ulysses about Pedro and how neither of us are in his life anymore. He just popped into my head for some reason, and we were all once tight like brothers, but no more, thanks to Trump or the thin-skinned blue line.

It was 46° this morning when I left the building it finally feels like Autumn. Mike is going through stress with his beloved, who might be jerking him around and not in a good way. Mike called me up last night, and I could tell immediately that there was something wrong. His voice sounded so sad, but he put up a front like nothing was bothering him.

I felt bad for Mike, but also realized that this seemed to be a pattern, the third weekend in a row where the beloved has backed out of coming out 3000 miles. I was going to ask Bill if it would be possible or okay for Mike to come over on Saturday and spend the night and go back to his crib on Sunday, but talking to Mike today, everything seems to be okay, so the offer was not made. A nor’easter is expected Sunday into Monday, so it seems that my bicycle ride will be canceled, which does not make me happy at all.

And with the 46° weather this morning, it might be a harbinger of the weather to come, which could mean last weekend was my last bike ride for the year. No fanfare at all.

On the other side of the penitentiary prison bars, I’ve been talking to you this is about Pedro and how far he seems to have drifted away from us. Ulysses says he might be living in Utah, where he can exercise his Second Amendment rights until he runs out of ammunition

Though I wrote last night via typing on my computer, and it went well, it went fast. Here I am dictating once more. I can always type again another time, but I don’t really write this or post on weekends anymore, it’s on Monday through Friday thing.

End of dictation, typing now.

Well Mike seems to have forgiven his beloved, who has cancelled on him three weekends in a row. I can only guess that the beloved can hold Mike’s ardor for more than 15 minutes. Mike said he thinks his beloved has a side piece in San Francisco, where he resides.

The bliss of being naive has Mike enthralled. He started a new job in August and thinks he can take time off from his part-time position to fly out to California at the end of the year. And he does not have a REAL ID, which is needed.

As of May 7, 2025, state-issued driver’s licenses and IDs that are not REAL ID compliant are no longer accepted as valid forms of identification at airports. I know this since members of my family intended to fly out west, but none of them had the REAL I,D so no one went out west.

Mike seems to think otherwise, and I guess I’m not going to tell him. He’ll have to find out for himself. Bill did try to hook Mike up with the proper identification over the summer, but Mike dropped the ball again.

Sheila E. The Glamorous Life

I heard from Pietro Cheng yesterday. We kept in touch barely, birthdays mainly on social media. We worked together for the Algerians, and I received a text from him asking if I was who I was, and I responded positively, asking if he was still shilling for the Algerians. Apparently, he was in the process of leaving the Algerians behind in the dust and was inviting me to cocktails with him and assorted sordid Algerians. Alas, I’m not much of a drinker, and he expressed dismay at my non-committal ‘maybe’.

He also seemed to figure out that I might not be too keen on hanging out with Algerians. It’s been over six years, and I have no desire to see any of them again. Perhaps Pietro and I could meet up exclusively without those clumsy whirling dervishes zooming about with their tongues lapping up holes and whatnot.

It seems that Mike and his beloved will meet up this weekend. The beloved has gallstones and will fly 3000 miles for a day and a half with a shorty from the Bronx via Chicago to Jersey City. I hope it works out, and I will be free of this albatross that smells like large, cheap ass cigars, and a friendship could be established without the hang-ups that he brings to the bedroom. I suppose that will only happen if they do make a spark in person and not just facetime bukkake. Mike is beginning to realize that Bill and I were good for him, but that was in the past.

Bill and I discussed this last night. The possibility of sex was the impetus of many things that I had done for him. Now that the possibility is an impossibility, nothing is granted nor given to Mike besides an occasional phone call, which has the once silent Mike running at the mouth. He claims he talks Bill and me up, saying how good we are, how talented and creative we are. Let’s face it, we’re fucking special, and I guess Mike didn’t realize what he had until it was gone.

I do mention every now and then that I am fucking special and not like the nearly 10,000 followers. I don’t think any of them would step up for Mike’s benefit, but desperation can be a reason to do things, and could prove that I might be wrong.

I picked up Colm Toibin’s book about James Baldwin. It concerns his reading of James Baldwin and not a biography. It was good to begin the book and may have had an influence on the manner in which I am writing this this evening. Yesterday I bought a copy of Uncut with David Bowie on the cover and also picked up the books by Colm Toibin and Sarah Vowell. And of course, the first world problem of having too much to read was compounded by my opening the mailbox and finding the latest issue of MOJO Magazine waiting for me.

I wrote this instead of dictating, and I should make an effort to get back into that. The influence of Baldwin on Toibin and on me.

Brass in pocket
Living thing
Peter Chang