Home now from dinner, stroll, sit, and about 20 cigarettes along the way with Kenneth. Good and bracing, that–an opportunity for more honesty and useful discussion than with hets who are speaking the wrong language or fags with whom there is undue sexual/romantic tension. So it’s nice just to talk without consequence, as it were, where one’s travails might actually be instructive–I certainly haven’t learnt anything from them. Frightening, though, the personal psychosexual geography of Union Square (and this does not mean psycho and sexual, it just means psychologically-sexual, hrmm.. which loses something in the necessary qualification) and those Village-ward bits: again this notion of secret history, of reminders, of slow accretion.

But no, at the risk of condescension (which is with every utterance with me, after a fashion), it’s good to see a sharp kid who reminds me in the good ways of myself at that (st)age. And since I’ve already made all those mistakes…. hrmmm… youthful indiscretion by proxy, neh?

And imagine: a fag who’s on time. I guess he’s new… Well, cheers. There is hope. Just a matter of whether there’s some for me too…