Friends ... (How Many Of Us Have Them?)

A man's life story could be told in the company he keeps.  To review a timeline of the friends in one's life could tell you much of what you need to know of an individual. Those who remained, those who went, shows growth (or stagnation, in some cases). It isn't the NUMBER of friends one has, but the quality of those friendships along with each person's individual qualities.  As I look at my current friends, I am reminded of many memories and I can see some glimpses into the memories yet to be made. I'm blessed in many ways. Despite the fact that I clearly see the deterioration of some friendships, I know it's for the best.  But right at that same time, I can see those who are hear to stay. I love my life and I love my friends - past, present and future. <3 <3

What A Trip

Based on actual events ...

Headed into the city to spend some farewell time with my old coworkers before I leave for New York, I see him. He isn't unattractive, per se, but I immediately know he isn't my "type." He's the kind of gay that isn't afraid of speaking up or out. This isn't a bad characteristic but he is assuredly "catty" or "messy" in his overall, fairly loud, demeanor. He's wearing what looks like (from what I can see through my dark shades) a dirty pea green t-shirt, some torn shorts - the kind with tattered edges at the bottom, and some dusty brown flip flops.  It kind of looks like he might have had to walk a bit before he got to the train station because his feet seem to have a layer of black dust on them.  He could use a haircut, at least a brush, and he wouldn't look terrible - he'd be at least somewhat presentable ...again, I said he isn't ugly.

He hasn't seen me yet - at least I don't think - but I know once he does, he will speak and try to spark a conversation.

Sure enough, when he comes up the stairs - I'm sitting right at the top of the stairs in the single seats against the left window - he stops, kinda taken aback (his reaction is so extra!). I'm doing my best to not look his way, but I notice this along the periphery. Once he regains his composure - after maybe 3 seconds - he continues up the stairs. Just when I think he will bypass me and I can relax, he speaks.

"How you doin'," he says in one of those whispers as if he doesn't want to draw attention to himself and, more importantly, me - just in case I'm not his type of guy (gay).  He does this as if he cares what others might say. I can immediately tell he has a louder voice, oozing femininity. Now, this isn't a terrible thing when kept within a certain level, however I don't think this is the kind of guy he is.  I am somewhat dreading where this might go.

My mother didn't raise me to be rude so I respond - after I realize he actually did speak - with a short, "Fine, thanks. You?"  I'm hoping he will understand it isn't an invitation to converse but merely an exchange of pleasantries.

"Oh, I'm good, sweetheart."

Oh, dear God.

He continues past me but decides against the empty seats further back, choosing the seat directly behind me instead.  This should be interesting.

I immediately begin looking for my ear buds to blast Aniba Hotep and the Sol Collective, but don't retrieve the, before he begins speaking short, random thoughts aloud - to no one in particular, of course.

"Sexy, sexy, sexy ... Just my type ... Ooo wee."

He's beginning to get louder - he can't help it, nor does he care.

I'm still scrambling to get my buds into my ears.

Just when I begin hearing Aniba's smooth, sexy, sultry swoons, I hear one last piece.

"Damn! Mm-mm-MM." I can hear, in my mind, him licking his lips.  Ick!

I am hoping he will get the picture but I fear I'm trying to alter reality with my mind somehow.  I think to myself, "If he taps me, I'm just going to die!"

Moments later, the guitar riff has taken me to another place and I'm jamming with the band, 

          He say he needed me

          He say he want it baby.

          He say I'm such a freak

          That he could almost taste it.

          I try to play it cool

          But I can't hardly ta--

He taps me.  I try to ignore it.  He does it AGAIN, of course.

I can't decide if I'm pissed or just annoyed. He doesn't tap me on the shoulder, like a normal person would, but on the side of my ribcage just under my arm.  He is really testing me now.  Without turning around, I pull my right bud out and lean toward as to say, "yes?"

"Do you have a pen?" Back to the whispering I guess.

"Huh?"

"An ink pen, do you have one?"

"Sure," I say. I look for something I don't care to receive back.

I know I might be sounding a bit "judgmental," perhaps "snobbish" or "uppity," in the words of many men who have been spurned by someone who had previously caught their eye before.  I just am over this whole exchange.

Between songs, I hear him on his cell phone, LOUD, of course, chatting it up with whomever.  OK, perhaps that's a slight exaggeration, but it feels like he is overpowering Aniba's powerful vocals.

          I'm so into-

          I'm so into-

          I'm so into-

          I'm so into-

          I-I-I'm so into into youuuuuuuuu

He taps me again.  This time it is more of a rubbing on my ribcage. I can't tell if its the pen or his finger but I've just about had it.

I turn my head slightly to the right, see the pen between his dirty fingernails (long, unkept coke nails that they are), grab it, place it back into my bag and try to get back into the web Aniba's spinning around me.

Deep breath.  Exhale slowly.

"Is it my stop yet?"

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>><<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

Music lyric credit: "Don't Stop The Feeling" & "I'm So Into You" 

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>><<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

What I look like today: