(journal from 11/15/09)

…I was so FULL of food and beer that I thought I might wake up like Gregor Samsa, only not transformed into a giant insect but instead into Precious from that new movie. I didn’t — I woke up just fine —but the enduring fear led me to go for a run this afternoon down to Battery Park and back.

At the end, I decided to finish with a little jog onto the Christopher St. pier. As I ran, I came across a cute guy sitting on a bench, sort of bearish but more compact, wearing tons of red — eek! — but our eyes met, and as I ran by our gaze never broke. I even turned around even after I passed him, and he was still looking. I actually burst out laughing. Wow! Truly a violent cruising. Then I considered he might have just been mortified by my outfit (including a cutoff that read, “Boys R Toys”). At any rate, I stopped at the end of the pier, gazing out on the Hudson, and coached myself: If I’m not online, how else can I expect to meet people? Go talk to him! But then again, I’d tried this on Friday with someone who I thought was cruising me at the “SNAXX” party. Disaster.

I went over and asked what he was reading, since he’d brought out a book, and it was Larry Kramer’s Faggots, which I just bought myself, same edition. So we talked about that, and The Strand bookstore, and then naturally I started talking about disaster capitalism and Naomi Klein. I explained that I didn’t have my cell and couldn’t take his number, and he looked at me completely unaffected. “So…” I said, “DO YOU WANT MINE?!”

I thought I’d never hear from him again, but then he texted me a half-hour later. His name is Francesco.