The night culminated in lots of champagne. I nipped off other people's glasses, no one cared. Shared a piece of pizza with someone I can't have. Legally, anyway. Two people bound by a common language at random occurred, genital regions were looked at. The fifty-eight year old five-foot ten owner ended up standing on the bar with my promise to catch her if she were to fall.
Embarrassingly woke up on the couch at Ernesto's mother's house and after I went home I oversaw the cooking of pasta and chili.
At lunch Tarik and I ate at Westport Flea Market. I'd never been, but had always wanted to go because Bob Berdella ran a stall there. Felt a distinct creepy crawly feeling licking the back of my neck.
Took a nap with Ernesto, woke up feeling overheated. We made steak and guacamole and toasted a glass of champagne.
He sleeps now, breathing heavily and audibly. Philip Seymour Hoffman is on the TV, being brilliant as always. Laura Linney looks so cute I could eat her.
It was a good first day, let's hope that all that follow are the same.
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