From: Zeke Krahlin
To: My Loyal Andromedans
Date: Wed, 18 Jun 2014 14:08:21
Subject: He Shoved Me Again!
Larkin shoved me once more, again outside of Twin Peaks Tavern, but on Castro Street by Market. It was near 11 PM when I saw him at the bus stop, so I sauntered on over to tell him:
“I looked for you Sunday, to wish you an awesome Father’s Day, and to thank you for all the adventures and mischief you’ve put in my life. For, what…going on nine years now?”
But before I could speak more than a dozen words he hollered at me, told me to get out of his face. I grew outraged and asserted:
“Larkin, I just came up to wish you well. You said I’m a nice man and have always been good to you. So why do I upset you now?”
“I don’t know,” he blurted. “Just get the hell away from me.”
Then he spit at my feet, so I spit right back and hit him square on the face. Then I tossed my lit cigarette onto his shirt. (For the record, I impressed my own torrid self with a bullseye both times; I didn’t miss a beat. Never realized the primo sharpshooter inside me.) He flicked one right back at me, then spit again. On my face, twice. Then he gave me sort of a half-shove that was rather innocuous, but nonetheless I took as an insult.
“Get away from me!” he continued to rage. “And stop sending my mail to the bars, they’re getting pissed.”
“All’s fair in love and war,” I exclaimed while standing right up to him. “You tell /everyone/ I’m your stalker and got me kicked out of all the bars. So I’m just returning the favor.” And added:
“How /dare/ you shove me again? You can expect a /lot/ more postcards arriving at the bars, now. I wasn’t planning to send any more, but you blew it. Get over yourself, dipwad.”
So I followed him up and down Castro, where he mostly wandered in the middle of the street, causing cars to stop and wait till we passed. The moment he’d cross back in the other direction, I’d mimic. Good thing there wasn’t much traffic. He finally marched homeward while I pursued, hollering at him how fukked up he is. He called me a crazy loon so I answered back:
“Crazy is when people shove a good friend, and slander him in his own neighborhood. Who do you think I’m talking about, goofball?”
By now we had crossed Market to K&D liquors, where the nightshift employee watched our loud antics from the entranceway. Then a squad car pulled up beside me, while Larkin was but a few steps from his apartment building. He took instant advantage of the situation and yelled to the blueshirts:
“Tell him to quit stalking me! He needs to leave me alone!”
One cop called to me: “Do as he says, walk away.”
“Wait a moment, officer,” I spoke back. “You didn’t see him shove me a few minutes ago. This isn’t the first time he’s done that. I refuse to let anyone bully me.”
“Well,” he advised from the passenger side while leaning out a bit, “If I were a small guy and someone shoved me, I’d be scared and get away.”
“But I’m /not/ scared. You need to talk with him, not me. His name is Larkin Kelsey, and he’s been bullying me for over a year now. I refuse to stroll my own neighborhood in fear. Plus, I’ve already filed a police report against him.”
Then it looked like Larkin was home for the night, and the cops did not step out of their car, so they obviously gave my words some consideration. I decided to walk away in order to return some minutes later, as I was sure Larkin would step out again.
In departing, I said: “You have a good night, officers. I’m going now.”
So I crossed Market to head home, but turned tail halfway down the block, and arrived once more just two doors from Larkin’s apartment…and the cops were nowhere in sight. Sure enough, he reappeared, walked towards me then spun around to descend the Muni Metro steps. I called to him from aboveground:
“Well that was quite a drama you just played. You can’t win this battle. All I’m doing is fighting for our friendship!”
“Go away, go away!” he screamed as he reached the subway level. Then suddenly, he fell flat on his face the moment his left foot touched the third step from bottom. It was a doozy of a stumble; he might have a bad bruise on his face the next morning. So I echoed:
“Look, I want you to be alright. Please don’t let aggravation cause you to fall down the stairs or do anything else stupid!”
“Fuk you, Zeke! Fuk you!”
I then ran across Market towards HM Plaza, figuring he’d emerge on the other side of the underground. But he did not.
Something else I told the cops at one point: “Go talk to Larkin. The worst that will happen is we’ll make a citizen’s arrest on each other.” But they remained glued to their car seats, when they really should’ve intercepted him.
I also said to Larkin as he descended the subway steps: “You /need/ a friend who stands up to your BS!”
Well, Andromedans, it was a most unexpected encounter last night, that has only served to fan the flames of my desire for justice. While blessed with a great love for another, no matter the difficulties. So I finally returned hovel, to compose the following letter which I’ll tape to the front of five “Free Me From This Bond” postcards, and send off to the five Castro bars he frequents:
You shoved me again (June 17th around 11 PM on Castro near Market). You’re pathetic. I just came up to wish you well, and crack a joke or two to put a smile on your face. But since you did shove me, I will continue to send you postcards at bars you visit. After all, you told everyone I’m your stalker, so one good turn deserves another. No one would betray a good friend like you have… unless he is suffering a malady that affects the brain. Such as a tumor. Please get a check-up, including an MRI to figure out what’s wrong. The sooner the malady is pinpointed, the sooner it can be nipped in the bud. I suspect you’ve been having cluster headaches, and taking it out on me…possible sign of a brain tumor. I don’t ever want to lose you, Larkin. You’re too important to me, and to the world. I don’t want to see such a beautiful mind like yours deteriorate. PS: how many dimes of meth ya got buried in your closet?
I’m really financially strapped to the max this month, what with all the expense of tending to Larkin’s well being. Glad to keep the post office alive, but I hope doing so will not lead to my /own/ expiration! I can only pray that Larkin’s hositility was to protect me from a cult member who might have been somewhere nearby, observing. Or perhaps (I also conjecture) he continues to manifest high drama, that I may have this golden opportunity to be his hero.
Sadly, the possibility of his suffering a brain tumor is also a concern. And for which my struggles to rekindle our once-sweet friendship is such a misery to achieve. He said only three weeks ago that our friendship is a godsend. Yet tonight, he yanked my chain. But he also said only moments before shoving me really hard back in January 2013: “You’re a nice man and have always been good to me.” There is nothing at this point that could /ever/ stop me from fighting to win back his kindness. I sorta think he acted out this latest and hateful scenario, that I may be the noble saint against his vulgar behavior.
Not is all as it seems, even to yours truly. But I certainly am not nearly so devastated by Larkin’s latest backstabbing, as I would be if I didn’t have somewhat clear evidence that behind the scenes is a secret organization training me for world leadership on behalf of all sexual minorities.
And that Larkin is their commander in chief. Who is possibly setting me up to become a whirlwind of controversy among all the denizens of Castro bars…who will ultimately become possessed by an overwhelming desire to purchase my novel. Along with three or four /more/ copies to share with their friends. Also consider this: my birthday is soon approaching, so Larkin’s apparent brutality is his way of making my surprise party an event to remember.
Though I must say–in wrapping up the entire account–I felt /most/ vindicated to see My Diabolical Dimetrodon smack his face on the cold, Metro floor. I suspect he did this intentionally, as part of the drama he’s creating for my own, ultimate benefit. Larkin is far from stupid, and from what I’ve observed about him, everything he does is perfectly calculated. Including a pratfall to humble himself before one he loves with great fervor.
The presumption is of course, that any further encounters with him prior to my birthday will always come off like our friendship is a lost cause. It’s supposed to be as much of a surprise as possible (the party), and the taste of a doomed love just prior, will make the event so much sweeter.
Ignatz has /nothing/ on me.
AFTERTHOUGHTS (hindsight’s wisdom)
He /wanted/ me to send another postcard-salvo out to those bars. Ticking off naive little me /assured/ him that I will shoot off /another/ barrage of postcards in a huff of outrage. But the real motive is this:
One more such attack will lure the remaining vermin out of the woodwork. [Anti-Zeke] = [Cult Member Suspect]. Once more I play the decoy to Larkin’s hunt. It was all a setup, Dears! Being telepathic, he /knew/ I was seeking him out to shower well-wishes. So what does My Trickster do? Appears moments before I arrive at Castro & Market (as if he were there much longer w/o anticipating my presence), ready to give me yet /another/ ride of my life. Even had his back turned to me as I neared.
Of course, the joke of it all (I now realize) was my attempt to seek him out and bless him with kind words…that instead blew up like a WMD. And ya know something, Honorable Reptoids? I wouldn’t have it any other way!
PS: Oh, yeah, I also sent Larkin a postcard to his own, private mailbox, like so (first the back, then the front):