Last night in Key West. Hiram and I go to a gay disco. We snort coke, drink to excess, dance, huff poppers with abandon. No one asks me to go to the toilet for a blowjob. Their radar tells them I’m off-limits, but they relentlessly hit on Hiram. He’s a move star after all and a friend who shares all the drugs with me.
We go back to his place. The Bertonis are gone. I shall be gone tomorrow.
Tina asks if we had fun.
“Too much,” Hiram is a good mood. We both are. they are head to Hollywood and I’m going back to New York.
I shall miss Key West.
The tropical flowers, the pastel colors of buildings, the scent of night jasmine, the pelicans skating on a breeze above the most aqua of waters, the waywardness of a dead-end town.
I’e cured myself of my bad habits for now. All my aches are gone. I’m ready for more, but remains back north.
I will wait for answers.
Below is a postcard of Key West.
An aerial shot.
I would never see that.
I didn’t go up in a balloon or fly by seaplane to Dry Tortugas. I saw plenty of subchasers arrive at the Naval Base at sunset. Protecting us some the Cubans and their Black&White TV shows. I really enjoyed to coral isle surrounded by the Gulf Stream. My psyche feels its embrace.
I heard an old-timer say that Key West gets erased every once in a while like the Hurricane of 1935. Everything blown into the sea and they start anew. From scratch. None of the houses have basement only crawl spaces. If you hide something in the Keys, it has to be in the attic. There is only coral stone below. Ah, Key West.
