Date: Tue, 28 Jul 2015 11:36:21
How I Got Larkin Excommunicated from Toad Hall
From: Zeke Krahlin
To: My Andromedan Acolytes & Various Mud Moles

This happened 8-9 days ago. It was a sunny evening with a slight breeze that made the leaves of those skinny urban trees flicker. Larkin was calling to me via telepathic command:

“Step out, Zeke, and find out where I am right now!”

The first bar I walked by was Twin Peaks Tavern, but he wasn’t there. So I veered east towards Hartford and Castro, only to discover he wasn’t at Moby Dick, either. Turning 180 degrees around, I trotted across Castro and almost to Collingwood Street. Where I paused before Toad Hall, a place that he never frequents because it lacks a pool table, nor do any of his friends go there as far as I know. I didn’t see him through the plate glass, but it was highly reflective, so I thought perhaps I should enter and look around. I did, but no Larkin.

“Hold on a minute,” I paused just before the exit, “Irene works the patio. Maybe she’s there; it would be nice to say hi.”

Irene /has/ read my book, and raves about it all the time. Not that I ever see her any more, since Larkin got me kicked out of all the bars in The Castro…but still, she’s more of a friend than most. So I proceeded towards the open-air terrace where smoking is allowed (both pot and tobacco), and glanced towards the mini-bar where I spotted not only Irene, but Larkin!

My Scandalous Sauropod was leaning forward upon the counter, two empty glasses at hand. I ran up to him and positioned myself immediately to his right. He behaved as if he didn’t notice me, in spite of my standing beside him at a very close range of no more than five inches. So I looked up at that sterling mug and demanded:

“Buy me a drink, you filthy kunt!”

[ Glankulous Reader: at this point you should learn that my blasphemous request has a history. For it was back in 2007 that I first bought Larkin a drink. Many months before then, he had been awesomely kind and attentive towards me, that I grew so bold as to speak to him that day with my pre-scripted appeal. I stormed into the Hole in the Wall Saloon where we first met, saw him seated at the front of the bar and hollered:

“May I have the superlative honor of buying you a happy meal, you filthy kunt?”

To which he simply replied with a blase shrug: “Okay.”

A happy meal, by the way, is a Budweiser with a shot of whiskey on the side. Something which Larkin taught This Pathetic Neophyte of Alcoholic Subculture some weeks prior. ]

Larkin looked upon me with disdain, then spoke these insulting words to Irene: “That’s my stalker, I gotta go now.”

Thus he departed in haste, leaving me once more The Scapegoated Ishmael, for others to deride if they so wish. I looked back at Irene to declare:

“Oh, we’re just roleplaying, don’t mind him,” and pointed to my cardboard sign I happened to be wearing, that said, “I am not Larkin’s stalker, I’m his boyfriend.”

Irene gave me a friendly wink (though perhaps it was a wish to not get involved), and I swiftly departed to the front of Toad Hall. Where I stood behind a post almost ten feet from Larkin’s tall presence. He didn’t see me at first, but when he craned his neck about the room, of course I became the target of his abuse:

“Get the hell outta here, Zeke!” he ordered. But I calmly stood my ground and replied:

“You summoned me to find out where you are. I had no idea you’d be here!”

“No I did not,” he snarked. So I rebounded:

“If you have a problem with my being here, go talk to the bartender.”

So he turned away and approached the nearest barkeep. During which time I whisked myself outside Toad Hall, and stood lingering on the sidewalk in front. A strategy that would make Larkin look foolish as he requested from the employee that he kick someone out who wasn’t really there!

Some minutes later My Dimwitted Dimetrodon peered through the front door to scream at me: “Don’t ever come back!”

But as he did so, two gents passed through the doorway, which timing made it look like he was yelling at them.

Larkin apologized: “Ohhhh, I don’t mean you guys! Sorry to give you that impression.”

They walked away in a huff, while one of Toad Hall’s employees stepped up to Larkin and told him to leave. Larkin shrugged in shame, and departed without objection.

“Ha, ha, you got yourself 86’d,” I gloated with great joy. Needless to say, I followed him for a few blocks from across the street, razzing him, and in other ways being a thorn in his adorably sexy side. Shouting at him two or three times:

“Buy me a drink, you filthy kunt!”

He turned up Diamond Street without looking back (I guess because he figured to lose me, but he did not). Some doors up he stopped to pet a neighbor’s little doggie that started yapping at him without cease. The lady apologized, but Larkin wished her a nice day and said “It’s all good!” before continuing his stride uphill, where I followed quietly from across the way. Then I bellowed:

“It’s all good, right Larkin?”

He was stunned and annoyed to discover I was still nearby:

“Go away! Get outta here! Go home!”

Seeing as I greatly resent spending every evening alone in my cruddy SRO while he galavants from one bar to another, playing pool, commiserating happily with friends and strangers alike, not to mention his softball and bowling sprees…I simply reemphasized that sterling truth he so blithely stated just moments ago:

“But it’s all good, Larkin, it’s all good!”

My Miscreant Mesosaur disappeared mid-block up Diamond Street, into the Eureka Valley Playground, and I did not follow. Instead, I ran back up 18th in an attempt to intercept him. But he was nowhere to be found, so I wandered off back home, sad and elated at the same time.


So the next day I mailed the following postcard to Larkin, knowing how much he’d enjoy:


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