This week's Past, Over was born of anger. Yeah, somebody, or actually some somebodies pissed me off. More specifically it was some Navy boys in town for Fleet Week.
Last Friday, friends were met up with at the Eagle's after-work happy hour up on the roof. It was a perfect way to end the week, and, needing to be up early to go out to the Pines, it made sense. (In fact, that's where you'll find me after work tomorrow as well.)
After a quick stop by Snaxx, where Paul the Particular unfailingly could not remember my name, we were off to Nowhere's weekly misery party, Cruising. Just not really my scene, although Aaron the Awesome was there. From there new acquaintance Mark the Mouthwatering was left and just Ash the Astonishing and I remained and our next destination was the Cock.
Walking down Fourteenth Street we were holding hands. Not because we're anything other than affectionate. (People, especially the gays, don't touch enough. Why?) Around the corner or perhaps coming out of KFC, come three sailors in their while poly-cotton costumes uniforms. The three fixated on our hand-holding and got mouthy. Although not confrontational, what was said was unnecessary. And I, being taller and more fit than them (and maybe a bit tipsy), responded, "You're talking about us in your tight-ass white seaman outfits? Fuck you ... and get out of my city, faggots."
And then I forgot about the whole thing, until this week's column came due. It's dedicated to those boys on the street and really captures, in its own way, my opinion of them.
