Wednesday, April 10, 2002

Unexpected

The second one is tall, taller than I anyway, with black, curly hair and green eyes and a radiant smile. He has the look of a man at home modeling seafoam green loose-knit cotton sweaters in a J. Crew catalog and is possessed of an easy laugh that comes often while we talk. It's hard to hear, with the disco music throbbing, but we chat for a while and then stand side by side in an amiable head-bobbing silence.

The first one is short, shorter than I anyway, shirtless and ten pounds heavy, with a goatee and brown eyes and a lopsided grin that flashes once and disappears. He doesn't want to dance. He doesn't, it seems, really want to be here at all. The conversation is ten words, maybe twelve, exchanged along with lusty looks and sips of weak draft beer.

Certain offers are made, mental tallies are adjusted, drinks are purchased, watches are looked at, a choice is made.

Perfection is enticing, imperfection utterly intoxicating.

You may think you know how this story ends, but you don't. You never do, really.