I walked the streets of Manhattan today as though they were slate stones punctuated in my grassy backyard. It was as if I kicked off some gardening clogs to bend down and turn on the faucet for the sprinklers. With my heels dangling in my hands, I walked from your apartment to mine barefoot, smiling. Yes, this is my city. I’m a happy New Yorker.
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You left your thong at my house…
Barefoot in NYC? Ewww. I hope you don't get ring worm.
I saw you on your date last night at Cibar. He was a greasy cheeseball.
I got ringworm one summer in camp. The doctor said I got it from brushing up against a branch. Small white puss-filled pimples formed a cinnamon bun on my upper thigh, and my boyfriend Adam put the brown cream on my leg twice a day. It stained his fingers. He loved me.
I love you Paul. LOVE. Notice this post is under the "memories" category… well I can assure you this entry is from further back than last night.
Well, count your lucky stars. At least he wasn't a cheesy greaseball!
… still, great lightness of being in those five sentences, Stephanie!
Not great…Unbearable.
I'd love to hear your take on that, Brian.
Filthy.
Holy Shit!! I have a blog entry called The Walk of Shame as well. It's amazing just how common we all are, even separated by distance and not even knowing each other. your walk of shame sounds a lot more pleasant than mine.