shout out to the long-timers ...

I'm quite certain that, if ever fate were to throw us together, David Sedaris would instantly, and most desperately, fall foot over bonnet in man-love with me.

He would be drawn much as a sweet summer moth is to an angry young torch. And while true, David's delectable sense of the ironic would provoke a certain infatuation - for the most part, and let's be honest here, it would be a one-sided love affair. Such are the cruelties of passion.

"O ~ where is my damn jacket?" His voice would carene down the woodened halls of his apartment, searching for me, homing, a missile, as I lay draped across the fading arms of his almost-sofa. His words wrestle and echo down the hall towards me - the sound of young pups tussling and snaggling for top position. I lean back and creak the armwrest into a long arc of mechanical fatigue.

"Hall closet, shockingly enough."

With the flourish of a closing door, David ushers himself into the room ~ an untidy sarong and fading bushel of hair etch into my mind. The eyes ~ a bit sunken and ringed, ever gently in red ~ are evidence of his attempts to stay lead lap with me at the cactus shooter's cup the night before. Red and ringed and sunken ~ still able to hold "don't be a wise-ass."

All in all, he looks good - fit but not faking, grounded but not dragging ... solid. From across the room, he takes flight, a gathering speed of approach ~ gliding down as a happy lark to favored branch. His face, hovering ~ so close, the scent of that damn hippie toothpaste overwhelms me and I secretely hurl.


"O, it's 3 in the afternoon...on a Sunday...God's day."

A blink, a pause of contemplation, and then I throw my arms around him in agreement. "I'm your god now, Sedaris. Lead me to the prayer room." Jacket forgotten, we make a jumble bumble of rising from the couch to retrace the trail of those loud and tangly pups.