April 8, 2017

The Gangway

It was like we were old friends chatting for hours, but when it came time for you to leave, I asked who was picking you up.

You become cold, as if hearing the bartender say,“ten to twelve minutes,” was something scandalous.

The homeless lady was chased out again, a couple came out of the bathroom together, the local sobbed about his friend dying, as the Giants glowed in the background.

“It was wild,” your eyes lit up as you told me about the 90’s in San Francisco.

It then made me a bit sad, to know that the strapping gay men of my generation, were somewhere in this beautiful city, their eyes fixated on a black mirror.