7 & 8

[ Flocculent Reader: these are postcards 7 & 8, with only two more to go, to complete my “10 New Rules.” Mailed off to six bars in The Castro that Larkin frequents…or frequented, seeing as their execution any time after Rule #1 may have already 86’d him from one or more of these gay dives. Then again, maybe they had no effect whatsoever, in my desire to retaliate against him kicking me out of these same bars by unkindly accusing me of being his stalker. Either way, enjoy my latest “Frenemy Volley.” ]


NEW RULE #7 (posted 20 August 2015):


NEW RULE #8 (posted 24 August 2015):


SO YESTERDAY EVENING

(Tuesday, August 25th around 8:15 PM) I saw Larkin once more at Twin Peaks Tavern. He was buddying up with the typical old fart while I stood outside within clear view of his sight. My heart broke, yet I was joyful at the same time.

Minutes came and went before he finally stuck a Camel 99 between those lovely lips; thus I realized he was about to step out. So I positioned myself catty-corner to the tavern in order to behold him from any direction. Yet instead of standing outside and sucking on that stick, he marched down Castro towards 18th.

I ran across the street in order to stride parallel to My Darling Demon. About halfway down the block, he started to cut diagonally across the traffic. But he paused before a car and did His Little Victory Dance while the driver remained a captive audience. Then continued across to suddenly see me standing there, and naturally threw me an angry glance and rushed back to the opposite side of Castro Street. So I hollered:

“That’s what I like so much about you: always the kind smile and good cheer!”

He waved a dismissive hand in my direction, treating me like The Ultimate Nuisance Of All Mankind that he has since January 2013. I was not about to be silenced:

“You love anyone with a fat wallet. Otherwise, forget it!”

Once he turned the corner east up 18th Street, I hurried back to 17th & Market, where I was sure he’d return to Twin Peaks, figuring I would give up and walk home by then. Sure enough, a short time later he strode around the corner of Hartford Street and onto 17th, where I waited nearby. His fists were balled up in fury, and he pounded them together as he passed by. I did not flinch; instead I hollered:

“It all comes down to anger management, Larkin! It’s no big deal, really.” I wanted so badly to hold him in my arms and tell him how much he means to me. But he has denied me that honor for more than 2-1/2 years at this point.

“Get away from me,” he hollered from a distance. “Get out of my life, goddam fukker!”

“I can’t!” I called back, ready to burst into tears; for I could never imagine abandoning him. “I’m your friend.”

“Go…home!”

His cold rejection didn’t fool me for a moment, so I admonished: “Don’t take any wooden colostomy bags, Larkin!”

Yet he still ignored me, so I queried: “Where’s your sense of humor, buddy?”

Just before he reentered the tavern, I declared: “Get back into The Glass Coffin, where you belong!”

(Twin Peaks Tavern is nicknamed The Glass Coffin, because that is the one bar in The Castro where the elderly set hangs out…more so than any other dive in the ‘hood. I find it hilarious, especially now that I have recently turned 65, yet feel no older than 32. So be it: I have a youthful spirit. And a great love for Larkin, who must be 53 by now; though is so glorious in appearance, he appears 27 on a good hair day.)

So I stood outside another 11 minutes or so, during which time His Pea-Brained Housemate, Zachary, showed up. Therefore I had to position myself where the idiot wouldn’t see me, yet Larkin would. My Sweet Soulmate did not angle his face away from This Displaced Soul–as was his usual wont–but remained facing in my direction while chatting up a Methusalah queer. After smoking another Fortuna, I decided it’s time to return hovel and fill my belly with nourishment.

(Which these days was long-grain brown rice dabbed with Rosarita’s vegetarian refried pinto beans, steamed bits of green, yellow, orange or red bell pepper, chopped green onion, mild green or red salsa, vine ripened tomato cubes, marinated and grilled artichoke hearts…and topped with grated sharp cheddar once all the other ingredients are nuked for three minutes. Sometimes I’ll include a side dish of sour cream and onion CVS potato chips. A chill glass of diet Pepsi or Dr. Pepper completed the meal.)

Halfway towards Market Street I turned back one last time to gaze upon My Beloved through the plate glass window. Wherewith he smiled boldly and waved his arms with much enthusiasm. I gestured back with blown kisses and hand signals to indicate: “It’s okay. I will always love you, and thank you for the affirmation. Asshole.”

Thus I arrived hovel with a lightened heart. Nonetheless, once seated at Desk #2 I broke down and sobbed. I am such a wreck.

PS: As of a few days ago, a brown, carotenoid lump appeared on my right hand, between thumb and forefinger. Several weeks before then, it was just a flat, white mar. Melanoma? God only knows, ’cause I certainly can’t afford to see a doctor. FUK PRESIDENT OBAMA and his “Unaffordable Care Act.” I have only The Great Spirit to trust at this point, that I shall not be taken away from those I love…and even be victorious in my struggles for Gay Righteousness. Stupid drama.

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