Wednesday, October 04, 2006


A complicated gay man sold me a sandwich.

I have seen some good old hospitality for the first time in a long while. It came in the form of a fellow who dressed and cut sandwiches at a place which is rumored to be all the rage in town. I would not have gone there but over the course of things I heard Téodor mention that they really dress them nice there, and because of an owner's background, they have a special scrapple sandwich, with the scrapple crisped fine and savory, among chilled lettuce and a zesty mayonnaise. I love to get a scrapple when I can, as I miss it from many hard nights on the road, from my days back East.

I got in the line where the people agreed to wait, and before too long I was up at the front. I had had plenty of time to be certain that scrapple was on the menu, and I knew what I wanted alongside: a soda. The sandwich cutter looked up at me: he smiled. I reported that I would like the scrapple sandwich on a fine sweet roll and he smiled perhaps more; I sensed that he too knew of the pleasure of scrapple. He was a gay fellow, and as gay fellows do he had prepared his hair and clothing well. Some call it coquetry, and it is not much practiced by men.

I do not want to make much of this, as it was straightforward. He prepared the sandwich well and something about him fascinated me. He wore his jeans in the modern low style where there is a hint of backside, and I was interested in that. I did not know how much he meant to show me, and that raised questions. You will know what I mean when I say that the sandwich is not where I will stop knowing him. I want to know what he meant by those pants and that coquetry. I think he meant quite a great deal, and I think he was out for adventure.

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