confessions of a bitter artist (a fictional journal) 1.

  1. Welcome to the Gayborhood

Philadelphia, June 1995.

Morning. The blank ceiling stares. I look away, try not to get caught in what if. But mind is quicksand, resistance trapped in regret. Shards of time disentangle on the wall. I stagger downstairs, out the door and onto 12th Street. Turn left at the corner onto South. Six blocks down and I’m at The Bean, a hip, boho coffee shop still untouched by tourism. “Medium, house blend—black,” no pretense. If I had a bidi, I’d toke it. Zen. Sunlight. No memories, no blues, no one-night stands. Just sidewalk traffic and my reflection smiling back at me in the storefront window.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s