Dark nights in damp towns

He was at a restaurant. He wasn't doing much, just sitting. He had thoughts about eating when he first arrived, but those thoughts went away pretty quickly. He thought about eating, but instead, he stared. He stared at the sushi being made in front of him. He stared at the quick and determined hands of the chef making the sushi. He stared at the bronze bar the sushi was being served on. Every now and then he thought about staring at the woman, but he kept deciding against it. He wasn't sure why. It's not that she would have minded, but somehow it didn't seem right.

She came by after a while, and asked him if he was going to have anything to eat. It was on her, she assured him. He thanked her, but insisted that he wasn't hungry. She sat down next to him and bought him another drink. He drank it, and he thanked her. Then they sat in silence for a while. He told her he had to leave. She asked him again if he was hungry. He said no. She asked if she'd see him later in the week. He told her she would. She touched his cheek and gave him a light kiss and told him she'd see him then.

It was cold outside. Colder than usual. It had been warm when he started out on his night. Pleasantly warm and dry. It was drier than usual as well. For the first time in what felt like years, the sky held no threat of rain. It merely hovered.

He walked up a hill. He was hungry. There was a diner at the top of the hill. He wanted to go there. The diner would make everything all right. He would be alone at the diner. No one would be watching him, asking him if he was okay. He would be offered only that which he asked for, and that would be fine.

He passed a club on his way. It was predominantly a gay club, but there was a woman he knew waiting in line to get into the club, and she spotted him. She called to him, and he jutted across the street to say hello to her. She invited him inside, and he agreed that he would love to go inside.

It wasn't damp outside, but it was cold. Inside the club was the opposite. It was both damp and hot. The sweat from the crowd permeated the air. Every breath that he took was full of the damp, sweaty breath of everyone else in the club.

He wasn't sure that he wanted to be there, but she bought him a drink, and he accepted it. The drink was cold, and he appreciated that. The room was hot and damp, and as he looked around, he realized that most of the people in the club had already or were just starting to remove their clothing.

She pulled him into the room where everyone was dancing. He looked around, and realized that everyone else was enjoying the heat. On top of every wall of speakers, there were couples, either male and female or male and male, adding to the temperature of the room. He looked at the woman he was dancing with, and realized that she had unbuttoned most of her shirt. They danced.

They danced and he drank and she stripped and he sweat and everyone danced and everyone drank and he yelled things at the top of his lungs that no one could hear. He enjoyed yelling these things. It made him feel free and anonymous. He was yelling and nobody knew it. It was wonderful.

She wasn't there to buy him drinks anymore, so he bought one for himself. He had stopped yelling. He was at the bar, drenched with sweat and wondering where she had gone, and how he had ended up there. A woman came up to him and asked him to buy her a drink. He did. She thanked him, and touched his cheek as she kissed him. He wasn't sure if he was smiling or not, but he thought so. He ordered another round of drinks.

He came to in a diner. There was a man who might have been a waiter standing in front of him. Nothing around him made any sense, so he stood up and walked out.

The air outside was brisk. In the distance a man was screaming for the world to suck his cock. “Hey, you! Suck my cock! Suck my cock! Get your ass across the street and suck my cock, you cocksucker!”

He found that he was running. He wasn't sure why, so he blamed it on the cold that was cutting into his bones as he hurried down the street. He realized that he was wearing only a short-sleeved shirt and slacks. For a moment he considered going back to the diner to retrieve his jacket, but then he remembered that earlier in the day it was nice out, and he hadn't worn a jacket.

He was at an intersection. He knew he had to walk along one of the five streets that met at this particular corner, but he wasn't sure which one. To his left he saw a sign that read, “Howell Street Diner.” He tried to remember if that was the diner that he had just come out of. A sign said “walk.” He walked.

He was thinking that he hadn't done his laundry. He was also thinking that he was only a few blocks from Rittenhouse Square. But that was a different city. He wasn't in that city. He was, in fact, many thousand miles from Rittenhouse Square.

He was at an intersection. He managed to find a cigarette, and he lit it. There were several streets before him. He wondered which one was his. For a moment he told himself that he was only a few blocks away from his apartment, but then he wasn't sure which city his apartment was in. Suddenly he realized he might be thousands of miles away from his apartment.

There was a man on the corner. He was old. He sucked feebly upon a cigarette butt that was barely lit.

“Aren't you cold?”

“I think I might be.”

“My apartment is just upstairs.”

“That's okay, mine is right around the corner. It might be, anyway.”

“It's warm upstairs.”

“I think I live here.”

“Why don't you come up for a moment?”

“I think it's this city, anyway. I came from a diner. I ate there.”

“It's warm upstairs.”

He was walking down stairs. Most of him wanted to vomit. Some of him wanted to sleep. There was a market ahead. He needed cigarettes. He tried to piece the night together, but the moon wouldn't let him. He came to in a diner.

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