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12:40 p.m. - September 11, 2003
I'm feeling bad already by this
I was foolish earlier, foolish even for my overall aura of general foolishness. Iím not talking about being lost or clueless while commuting and listening to the morning show elicit comments on the prowess of Camaros versus Mustangs versus Trans-Ams and why they are conducive to sex. Iím talking about what I note and recognize as my first public eyeing (is it checking out or cruising or something else, Twids?) that engendered a - what? Confrontation? Scene? Doubt and criticism?

Yes, thatís right. The boy is branching out, like it or not.

I walked to my car at the beginning of the lunch break and a crew of road workers standing about nearby (obviously not filling potholes or being engaged in actual labor, a foil to the stateís miserable economy, but when youíre union on lunch, youíre God) and I looked at one guy in particular. Couldnít help it. And immediately he realized (how, how?) I was looking and so averted my eyes while walking to my car. And yet (stupid, stupid me) I kept glancing back to find him watching me. Blush, blush, inner monologue: Donít look, Jason, focus on your shoes, the pavement, the leaves, the airplane above. Got to my car and looked again Ė and he was still looking at me. He waved his hand and that age-old confusion Waving at me or someone behind? reared and I didnít respond. I mean, Jesus, what the hell do I know? And so I grabbed my book and walked away and I heard him say Hey! and I looked and he smiled and came right up to me.

Like what you see?

I was mute. What?

Smirk. Dumb faggot.

He went back to his colleagues and they laughed and my face burned.

Yeah. Dumb faggot.

 

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