Dear Diary (20 August 2007):

Last Wednesday I walked by Folsom & 8th to see if Larkin really did get his job back, at the corner tacqueria (which is right next door to the Hole in the Wall Saloon--where both he and I have been 86'd--and below the room in which he used to live, until fire damage). I couldn't see through the glass plate walls, because of the sun's bright glare. So I had to walk right up to the open door, and pretend to gaze at the menu taped there.

And there was Larkin behind the food trays, slinging guacamole with those long, gangly arms and back curved over like a handsome buzzard. I then promptly turned and backed away, crossing the street in such a manner as to keep my presence visible to Larkin as long as possible, during my departure.

I continued hiking toward Trader Joe's, stocked up on canned and packaged goodies, then began my trek back home, in The Castro. Three blocks before my home is Church Street, a busy intersection to cross. I did, and further up the block would be (first) The Expansion (gay/straight bar) and (second) the Lucky 13 (straight bar). Upon approaching the Expansion's entranceway, a wad of paper currency tumbled its way down the sidewalk, and into my right foot.

I stomped on it quickly and looked around: safe! Uncrumpling the wad revealed its true value: $20!

"Maybe this is a sign to hang out at the Expansion. After all, they do have cheap drinks all the way to 8pm," I thought; but then this: "Maybe Gypsy's at the Lucky 13; I should see if he's there now."

So I step into the Lucky 13, walk all the way to the back, didn't see him, turned tail and stepped out. I continued home, where I fixed a nice meal and relaxed afterward. Approaching 7pm, I had well digested my dinner, and had decided that yes, indeed, I'll drink stuff at the Expansion...but first check for Gypsy again, at the Lucky 13.

Now, keep in mind that all this time, that is: THE ENTIRE DAY since I saw Larkin earlier (approx. 2:20pm), I've been wishing to see his lovely face a lot more than just a few brief seconds. Yet, I was very, very happy to see he got his old job back--because it also returns him to the South-of-Market-Area (SOMA) community. Even though he STILL ignores me completely, and acted like no one was there when I came to the door. But of course, he saw me. I will return and get a bite to eat there...assuming he won't refuse to serve me, always a possibility.

"Ah, there's Lucky 13 again, I'll check for Gypsy," I think, and enter the bar. Nope, not there. So I loop outta there, and two doors down enter the Expansion. It's rather dark, so I decided to walk all the way to the other end, by the pool table, and sit. So I sit.

And having once sat, my eyes grow accustomed to the dim light, and I look around:

There, not more than 10 feet away, sits Larkin and a friend. They are playing pool; so I enjoy just kicking back and reveling the vision that is Larkin. He of course doesn't acknowledge he knows me...doesn't even look me in the eye ONCE.

But that's okay...for at the same time, I know if anyone tries to mess with me, he'll be in their face FAST, and drive the asshole out.

So I'm only returning his unique friendship, in as best and respectful a way as I can, considering the circumstances: that Larkin simply will not talk to me, or even acknowledge we are (or were) good friends. It's painful, but I'm proud of myself, and remember:

THIS TOO IS JUST A TEST.

A test of what? My emotional quotient, my ability to handle failed relationships maturely...and with a sense of humor and dose of chutzpa!

Sadly (by my fourth vodka tonic), Larkin&friend up and leave, and I am once more suffering a broken heart, while the blues play from the jukebox.

What were the odds? If I hadn't that $20 come right up to my feet, I'd have never considered going out, let alone to a bar. And I know that Larkin doesn't frequent the Expansion. I asked the bartender, Mia, if she's seen him before, is he a regular. And she said no, she's never seen him before.

THIS IS JUST A TEST...A SETUP.

And why I think Larkin is my Guardian Angel of sorts.