I rode the subway by myself yesterday out to the beach. I read from a book I have been reading, Long Division, but more so, I didn't read from it. I enjoyed that luxury that you have on long commutes alone, losing one's self in a particular type of thought that really only seems able to breed in these circumstances, moving through space and time in some vehicle, somehow these conditions making everything (appear at least) to make more sense. You can sketch out, in ways you hadn't been able to earlier, the contours of your life.
Soon though, I was on the beach with friends. I was so much happier to see them because I felt more secure, more aware of who I was, after that subway ride alone, that quality time I had been able to spend with myself.
I drank a lot of vodka and swam in the water and talked to people in the sun about Walt Whitman and mole people.
Everything took on the blur of those best summer beach days in the city, alcohol combined with the effects of the sun, for making everything have that beautiful mellow glow. Cares of other lives, lives other than this one now on the beach, seem so distant. There are few better experiences of freedom than to spend the day at the beach. It felt so good. Soon, it was evening and I was riding in the back seat of a car, somehow finding a ride home. The drive home was beautiful through various neighborhoods. At some point we were driving north on some road - I know this because to my left was as we passed each block, the beautiful view of a sunset happening perfectly at the end of each road. I kept waiting until we got to the next corner so again I could view the bright red setting sun lining up perfectly down every block.
I ate some food and then went over to Nik's house. We pre-gamed there and then went to Spectrum. The blur of the beach, a hazy playfulness to the day, continued into night, into the city again. Beach vibes all day and night.
I was introduced by a friend to this guy, N. We have been introduced once or twice before, mutual friends in common, however I was excited for some re-introduction because I've always thought he was cute. So I smiled at him as we were introduced. I looked at him for probably a few moments longer than that of polite friendliness, saw in his eyes something that told me it was okay, that he was looking for a couple moments longer as well. I smiled at him again and we talked about the beach, about his sunburn. He showed me a picture he took of his backside, so you could see the tan lines of the burn, could see his cute ass.
And I don't know what else happened in that bar, who was there, what music was playing, anything. At that point, everything but this guy faded away and I just wanted to keep talking to him, to keep this ball in the air, having so much fun talking to this cute guy. I remember at some point some guy I used to be into a lot recently and who blew me off multiple times came to say hi to me, but I ignored him because I didn't want to stop this conversation, this moment. N asked if I lived nearby. I said I did. I asked him if he wanted to come over. He said he did.
At my house, we drank wine, smoked weed, and talked about Roberto Bolano and science-fiction. He is so fucking sexy.
When he left my house this morning, I smiled. It was my first time having sex with someone in my new apartment, which is not that new. My bedroom has finally been broken in. It was really nice to have a guy in my bed next to me, to sleep against someone. And so I smiled for those reasons, yes, but on top of that smile, there was another one, happy to have slept with this particular person, this nice and cute dude.
After he left though, a hangover started to set in more and more. Beach vibes came to a scratching halt. I slept off some of my hangover. I ate Mexican food. I read Walt Whitman and paranoid lunatics and committed dreamers on Twitter. I listened to Gilberto Gil. I ate more Mexican food.
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