tidbits and ramblings

we're in a posh hotel room, somewhere a million stories above the city. the room is decorated in neutrals with gold accents and some salmon pink splashed here and there. tasteful, compared to how it sounds. there is a bucket of ice and a bottle of champagne on the table in the dining area outside of the bedroom in the suite. two glasses sat empty, waiting to be filled and emptied, and filled again. journey plays and we discuss the ramones. he tells me about the punk concerts he used to see at cbgb, wearing a leather bomber jacket with studs and sporting voluminous hair. we smoke up in the middle of the "living area", right on the floor, while the stereo pulses and throbs next to us. "layla" comes on- the derek and the dominoes version- and i seem to be backed against the couch. our mouths are connected and i feel the stubble on his chin even though he shaved this morning. his breath is sweet with a tinge of whiskey and maybe some fruit, probably the apple tart, and before i know it i'm in his lap and there...oh, there's no going back now.

('cos it already is)

the 15 freeway moves at a peacefully frantic clip and the sun sets ahead of us in brilliant orangeyellows. he's wearing the trunks he swam in and a green billabong t-shirt that i would later bury in the bottom of a box of clothes that i donated to the salvation army.

he handles his car in the kind of way that makes you want to climb over the gearshift and into his lap and just fuck his brains out right there on the 74. there wasn't much to omar, all skin and ultra-lean muscle, but he had a presence that was like the ocean: calm until it wasn't; blue until it turned slate gray. i remember not wanting to continue, to make him stop, but all the same being completely excited that we'd finally gotten around to it.

it's september 5th, 2005 and sticky everywhere in brooklyn. i'm careening down atlantic ave. as a passenger in a navigator that's seen better days. our windows are rolled down and we follow the elevated tracks through the hood, back to my apartment. jack's radio is tuned to some station discussing the devastation of hurricane katrina, the extent of which i will only fully realize when i return to classes the next day and that's on the tip of everyone's tongue. he switches to the cd player. young jeezy and akon explode out of the speakers.