10 – Flirtation

North Beach – August 6, 1992

The short blonde next to me claimed to be friends with the Virgil poet performer who just bombed at the North Beach Open Mic. She says, "Don't they clap where you come from?" That would be a sign of encouragement, I say. "You clap only when you like it?" I patted my palms together methodically. She pursed her lips and shook her head.

We continue to poke remarks at performances and others in the room. She pinches one guy's ass who’s passing by then says, "Oh excuse me," in the crowded room. I couldn't stop snickering.

What's your gig? I ask.

Ballet.

The stage is a little tiny, but I'd like to see your act.

I'm not dancing up there, she says with a sly smile.

Just adorable. We finish our beers and part without complication.

Oakland, September 21, 1992

Cute girl in the park at Bay to Breakers. (Asked for her photo not her number)

People who combine foods on their plate, such as meatloaf, mashed potatoes, and peas, might be a different kind of people from those who eat one food group at a time.

Christine's a colleague and yells across a party room to Lana that I'm a screenwriter. I wish I had that confidence. Christine has a way about her though.

Going home on the crowded elevator, as if she's speaking in some secret morse code, Christine whispers loudly, "Lana...you need...to be..HAD." The sea of strangers shift their eyes to Lana without moving their heads. I'm petrified, poker faced. Nobody says another word.

So how did we do? Well, I doubt the public humiliation really helped. As you can see, I did not HAVE Lana or anyone. Instead, I'm home alone scribbling ink on your pulpy ass.