It seems like whenever I am leaving Spectrum early in the morning, late in the night, where the line meets between the two, I always just miss the subway and am told it is 20 minutes or so until the next train. It happened again last night and so I flagged down a car on the street to take me home, that wait seeming horribly and painfully long at that time of the night. The driver was some Caribbean dude with a really thick accent who was blasting "Hot Hot Hot" (presumably Arrow's original version of the song). He turned it down long enough to ask me where I was headed and for me to ask how much the ride would cost and then once we were on our way again, he turned up the music again really loud, blasted it. This made me incredibly happy for inexplicable reasons.
The driver told me his brain was his GPS. He tapped the side of his head as he made this statement. I smiled, nodded my head, and continued to bop my head to the music as I watched the things outside the window pass in a blur.
32 is going to be the year. There is no reason not to be happy, no reason not to go out, no reason not to talk to someone. I am letting everything go, trying to, every fear, every grudge, and embracing what there is to embrace, the things in front of me.
32 is also bringing me much better luck with boys. At Metropolitan last night, I talked to this guy who a year or two or three ago (time blurs like that), I had hit on at Mattachine and gotten nowhere with. It was clear that he was really into me last night, and that felt really good, but also weird. I wondered what had changed, but only for a little, because 32 is not going to be the year about worrying about such things. We exchanged numbers and I left to go to Spectrum. And then at Spectrum, some crazy British guy, quite cute, came up to tell me that I was really beautiful. We chatted for a bit before starting to make out. He said a lot of things, at one point saying he wanted to bend me over and fuck me. Real romantic stuff. Despite how I was not looking to get bent over and fucked by a cute British guy, by anyone really, last night, I let him drag me into some bedroom where we made out for a bit. He tried closing the door, which wouldn't close. The door bouncing back open each time he tried to close it was a sign, a signal from someone to walk back out that door. I told him I was going to go dance, that I wasn't looking to get bent over and fucked. I danced around to some songs I didn't know, songs without words.
The comfort, the joy, in that car ride home came from not only recognizing this song, but also from hearing words, from a human voice giving order and shape to the world, things feeling hot, hot, hot because the voice said it was so. The driver hummed along and the world could not have gotten much better then in that particular moment.