July 15, 1977 (I was 32)
Desperation lives in a singles apartment. He
drinks beer in the parking lot when he gets out of work at
11:00 pm. When he is home his apartment door is open
and his chair is in direct line for viewing the hallway. He
checks out anything that happens by. He drives a black
sporty hardtop with gold and red striping. His life is waxed
and amplified. His cool sounds filter down the hall. This
guy’s first name is not Quiet. He is on the firing line with
every chick that comes within range and he is in direct
competition with every other heterosexual male. In mixed
company, all is fair. In the company of other men, it’s
statistics, hits and misses. He hates fags though he rather
suspects they find him quite appealing.
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