Friday night I loved.

Friday night I loved. And either that’s an antiquated way of saying Friday night was the object of my love. Or else you can take it as the setting for some objectless love. Loving as an intransitive verb. Like being. Night was its setting.

No fucking! Or at least not until later. And only amongst ourselves. The two of us I mean. Friday at least. (Saturday’s a different story. But not quite yet a story. Fragile spot. Undefined.). Lots of boys around. At our gay neighborhood bar. The Cox. It’s the place you go because you don’t know where else to and because everybody who thinks they are someone to the gay Parisian scene’ll be there anyway. Although. T and I. Have a history of going there. And our coupleness takes over. We talk to each other and feel silly. For not “having” a gang. But recently. Since I’ve decided I live here. That’s having its effects. Like St. said to me the other day. “You’re part of the galaxy now.” He reads us here, so he knew what he was talking about. So we hesitated before going. Because I wanted to see Kung Fu Panda. Like I said to B while we were skyping that afternoon. “I need culture.” “Right,” he replied. “The panda.” But we went. B was there. Other people milling around. At least when they go to the bar. Because otherwise milling around is not possible. At the Cox, there’s an outside section. But also arguments with the neighbors over whether or not they have the right to have people drinking there. So now they’ve roped off bits of the sidewalk to stand on. Which involves keeping us drinkers packed behind the ropes like sardines. In some ways this is good. It forces proximity on you and whomever you’re standing beside. You just have to know how to have your tongue in the right gear. To say something clever and keep the conversation rolling. And things can happen. So Friday night. We started out up against the wall. B and part of one of his gangs not far. But several sardine packs away. So glances and smiles from not so afar. Until there was a clearing. T led the way and we filled in.

J is a designer. He was chatting with B. So was E. Sexy guy. Who didn’t use to talk to B until B started taking pictures of the bearded among us. And now finds lots of things to say to B. J has a beautiful smile. And designs things. Like he has a project for candles. In the shapes of bottles. And penises. We did a little market research. Because at some point a very weary looking P climbed over the ropes and joined us. Somehow I knew. His grandmother’s been sick. And she isn’t any more. Before he even told me I knew his tired eyes had seen things he’d hated seeing. Plus? She died the day of his 40^th birthday. Hard week. But he was there in his chaps and ready to work it out. And willing to be part of the test market for penis candles. He didn’t think it was such a good idea. Because. Like, what. You can’t stick it up your butt because it’ll melt. We decided maybe it would be fun for radical feminists who want to watch penises burn. But that for those of us who like them. Maybe not so much. Beer flowing. Conversation about Berlin. E saying he not liking all the men in their major uniform gear. Like we’re in ’39 or something. I saying later to B. Just wait ‘til he sees me. B giggling. Because in a lot of ways. It is like we’re in ’39. It’s just so different we don’t quite know how to get our heads around what exactly is going on. At borders. In retention centers. In Gitmo. We all know and we all have no idea.

Hunger. Desire for culture. Panda. B peddling “the best pizza in Paris.” A bike ride away. On the way up the hill to our house. J, T and I jumping on bikes. B on his scooter. Zooming up the hill. To the best pizza in Paris. Great conversation. Easiness. Being us. Just easiness. Something clicking. Settling into place. And shifting. Both at the same time. Stories. Friends. At the table and elsewhere, too. Great food. The easiness of a we that’s several I’s. Not looking for and just finding one another The other side of the destruction of me I was recounting the other day. Where any I I am is only itself with others. Friday night I loved. I finding myself thanks to others. In less melodramatic terms. I had a nice dinner in Paris with new friends.