through my pants, and the ache in my loins
like a toothache when the pain is light and
different from any other pain. Sitting there
looking across the park, I suddenly felt calm
and happy, seeing myself in a dream rela-
tionship with The City, and knew I was going
to score for a boy that night. I did.
Angelo’s face was Oriental, Japanese-look-
ing, except for his copper skin. He was not
queer, and I gave him money; always the
same amount, twenty pesos. Sometimes I
didn’t have that much and he would say: “No
importa.” (“It does not matter.”) He insisted
on sweeping the apartment out whenever he
spent the night there.
Once I connected with Angelo, I did not go
back to the Chimu. Mexico or Stateside,
queer bars brought me down.
The meaning of “mañana” is “Wait until the
signs are right.” If you are in a hurry to score
for junk and go around cracking to strangers,
you will get beat for your money and likely