6:46 pm
My room smells like boy and cheese when i enter. Not an offensive cheese odor but more the peppery hint at the end of a whiff of parmesan, or the fresh edge of a sharp cheddar. Both smells are odd, no boys or cheese has been in my room. Not recently.
And I did just did laundry.
THE PARK
Unseasonably warm today, so everyone was a buzz about the park. A hot sun and cool air, just enough to suggest shirtlessness, sunglasses, wine or beer. Dan and I arrrive at 2 to the fruit shelf, and my phone won't stop beeping at me, everyone seems to be texting, but the sun is too bright to read the screen. No shirt, no shoes, but socks, black ones pulled up to the knee, and my short pants with the vertical stripes, and leather detailing, almost jodphurs, almost renn faire. Dan's teal unicorn shirt is quickly off, flip flops kicked aside.
Soon Erik comes by and we are three fags with no shirts smoking cigarettes and drinking wine, trying to find common friends to gossip about, commenting on the hairstyles and dogs around us. Erik starts the "would you sleep with him" game. It's like an I-spy game on a long road trip. Familiar, easy, distracting. The clear sky looks like winter but feels like spring, spirits are visibly lifting all around us.
"Him, not him, maybe him, wait till he turns around, him not him, ok him, no wait, no, no, no"
A thin slim shaggy haired blonde stands and paces, talking privately and publicly on a cell phone.
"Not my type but I like him, is he butter?" I drink more wine
Butter turns around, his face now visible, and he is not butter.
Later he walks by wearing what seem to be riding boots., and no shirt, with a shorter shaved head boy wearing most notably a boring horizontally striped shirt.
"yes to Butter, those boots make him seem interesting"
Dan says
"If I were Butter I'd lose those jeans, and that friend with the striped shirt"
The jeans are predistressed denim that hang loosely from his waist and pool at the top of the black leather boots.
then someone says
"He's not a real blonde, look at his face"
"No to Butter" I say, sliding my shirt back on, the early shadows quickly cooling the park and driving fags from the shelf, and hoods up over sun hot heads.
THE PONY
Karen finds me by the bathroom, she's got glitter on her eyes, puffed up and teased hair, sequin shorts, star earrings, totally unironic, her sincerity saves the outfit from silliness, instead making the "I'm wearing mom's heels" aspects sexy and smart.
"You have to see my Pony" she's excited, apparently she just came from the shelf looking for me.
"I heard you had a Pony here, is it remote control?"
"No, but just come"
We snake our ways through the clots of hipsters sporting threadbare keds, tight lady's jeans, vintage or not vintage raybans, and boxes of PBR on Fixed Gear Flats. I see a small pony sized Pony, brown with a white Mane.
"It's like a $300 toy, I got it at Good Will for $40"
We get closer and the Pony swings its head in our direction dropping a rubber carrot from its working mouth.
Karen greets it, and rubs its ears
"Hello Pony, say hi"
Pony ignores me and swings its head to the left, Karen picks it up and turns it so that its looking at me. I touch it's white eyelashes, and try to get it to look at me.
"It was a light sensor so it goes to sleep in the dark, and it's scared of the dark. It has an audio sensor, it knows its name and responds to loud noises."
"What's its name?"
"Pony" she states with no trace of irony, the sincerity given way to plain fact, as a male/female couple walk up. The man wears a yellow shirt with drops of what are probably beer dotting his chest and belly, a beer clutched in his right hand.
The woman says "We were watching you and we really thought it was real, till just now"
