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...