I’m gonna have to clean up. The entire apartment has become my man cave. I’ve got shit everywhere. I realized there was thick layer of grease on my favorite pan and 20 minutes of scrubbing still showed more grease. I have purchased new underwear, despite most men believing that as long as a single molecule holds the threads together, they’re good for another round, I am upgrading.
The dilemma I face is whether to hold on to TC. Night after night alone ain’t good for this old man. But the contrary is dealing with the wackos in the general cell population. I applaud the brown tiger for his ability to sync with me, he knows my game. He misses me despite this. But time is short and I can’t invest in something that’s not workable.
He knows the game. If someone were to pop into my life. Local fresh meat. A caring crispy snacky toy, limited attitude and a delicious shade of brown, well — our dialog would change. Or so he thinks.
As I’ve written, TC’s sense of adventure is what entices me most. That and his little brown swish. It’s what’s around the bend that he cranes his neck out the window to see. I like that. He is deeply interested in local customs, sucking up the flavor (though without eating the meat). A true yearning to experience life. It’s exciting. A time past for me, but one that I can watch forever.
But enough with that, I await his arrival, a chance for our US Customs dicksheads to screw with another foreigner. America love it or leave it. I’m trying to book my flight out of here. Lord help me find the way.