Fire at Barista #1

Hello gayish faggots and grayish homos —

by the sea, you and i, we will retire together, but keep our hobbies: like gardening and model trains and the red sox — I will still write, and for you, and you will still picky our bass, for us — times when i am old and gray, by the sea —

on thursday, i was working at thinking cup, on tremont, downtown by the boylston t stop, at the back, by the counter, without barista #1 — and all of a sudden a car, right out there in front of the entrance to the shop, exploded into flames. A huge fireball replaced the car which was essentially and immediately burned. so, we, the customers busy reading, writing, or drinking — we all watched this conflagration through the wide glass doors of the store. we all froze about a minute — mesmerized by the flames and their proximity, our only shield the glass windows and the closed door, but i finally — the first — asked if there was a back exit and, when this was confirmed, i quickly assembled my stuff (book, laptop, pink clipboard, pink legal pad, pens, some porn pics) and tore out of the store, with accompaniment by a familiar barista woman whose only real identity is as the not-mason of the times i am in the store without him. anyway, there was an exterior fire, i was the first to thaw and exit, i don’t know what happened to the others, but i am happy that i am alive, my penis and balls untouched by flame.

barsta #1 was not there to experience the fire — perhaps he would have done something noticeably cowardly or courageous — or maybe he takes me in his arms, he somehow manages to hold my great weight, and he carries me out of the coffee shop, by the backdoor exit, and then — clear of flames — we kiss, or make out, or maybe i suck his dick for two hours — hard to say how the post-rescue afterglow will proceed.

i was over there today, having gone by 1369 on the walk with connie, trying to avoid the interior of the store (there is the possibility that rich has left the spot or moved away, in which case the book drop is null) and to skip rich’s beautiful eyes until we somehow meet — later — after he has read the additional books (“system,” “(a)sexuality,” “debt to marx,” “perverse,” and “academic abortion”) but before he remembers how it ended the first time: tragedy, then farce, hopefully farce, for some reason i fear that we are a match.

the walk with connie was fun and easy — the stroll was very slow — and we managed to make the mistake of eating at clover which is some kind of vegetarian horror show. i got something far too caloric for my diet: pita (no no) with eggplant and eggs. it was fine, but for $15 i wanted more, literally, or at least in the first sense. i have become a bristly miser when it comes to any consumption whatsoever.

somehow all of my libidinal attention has shifted from mason to rich. i sometimes think that i fell in love with rich at first sight (the sustained eye contact we made with each other in an instant type of moment) and that i still sort of am in love with him in this curious way, as he would be in love with me, at the same time. the fantasy of falling in love with rich probably has to do with patrick (et al.), his occupational proximity to me, though we can’t discount mike and the other patrick (who was an asshole), both of which i didn’t not fall in love with. in any case, i probably fell in love with rich over an interval of time and then crushingly it was gone (though he did read my texts). Mason does not feel like love — it’s more obsession or crush. it doesn’t feel authentically strong like it does with rich. i will have to re-engage with rich. i have to do it.

that’s all from the future seas, we will all die earlier than rich —

love your indulgent andy p