I hate mosquitoes, but my woes with mosquitoes had not yet begun at this point. So, we’ll save that passionate tirade for another time. On Day 2, I woke up and prepared myself to go out into the world to be adult as fuck. (MoMo to English translation: I got ready for work.) Mr. Traveler and I crossed paths in the kitchen. Fancy meeting him there. Nothing interesting happened. Because we were heading out around the same time to the same train station, we walked together. It was rush hour; therefore, there was hardly any room on the train. We stuffed ourselves onto the train in sardine-like formation. As a result, our bodies were in extremely close proximity to one other’s and his hand was wrapped around mine on the holding pole. If this were a dumbass movie, some 90s R&B would have been playing during this scene. (Think R. Kelly, Bump N Grind: “I don’t see nothin’ wrong…..”) For such an annoying setting and situation (commuting in a jam packed train), it felt kind of magical.
Once we dislodged ourselves from the train and into the mass of humanbots, I walked him halfway into the World Trade Center and directed him, with a “Godspeed” to the subway he needed to take as I exited left.
I didn’t hear from him all day.
Upon my return to my place, I found my guest already there sitting on the balcony. I joined him briefly and we exchanged pleasantries. He mentioned he needed socks. I offered to take him, but told him it had to be within a few minutes because I had dinner plans. He gently probed about said plans and I casually evaded. Part of me felt guilty — my conscience was being silly. What did I have to feel guilty about? I had just met this specimen, who wasn’t even intended to be a specimen less than 24 hours prior. He said he’d get the socks himself and I departed.
I had low expectations for the dinner date. Mr. Smooth and I had been planning to meet for about two months. I figured I’d get it out of the way and move on. Astonishingly, I had a great time with Mr. Smooth. That’s a story for another time, though. After dinner, Mr. Smooth asked to walk me home. I declined because I didn’t want Mr. Smooth and Mr. Traveler interacting. Gotta keep ’em separated.
I returned to find Mr. Traveler sitting on the balcony with a Mike’s Hard something-or-other in hand. I questioned his drink selection. I sat down on the unoccupied chair and started conversing with Mr. Traveler. We talked about a range of things for hours, including him slipping in there that he knew I went on a date. So what? Who knew temporary tenants expected exclusivity as soon as the second day of their stay? Around midnight, we went inside and he sat in the living room corner on the floor (because I didn’t have a couch yet and he refused to sit on a stool because he didn’t want to hold his posture straight). Eventually, I went and sat next to him. I was drawn to him and wanted to be closer.
TO BE CONTINUED….