12:40 p.m. - September 11, 2003
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.