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[whitespace] Trading Places

By J. David

It was Wednesday and we were in the Mission. We walked to Dolores Park and watched a group of children playing kickball. When the littlest girl walked up to the plate, she hollered, "You better get it ready in the outfield. I'm about to kick it through." We dozed off at a table near the playground to their various cheering and squealing. When we awoke it was dark, so we headed over to Dalva for a drink, for a red wine.

DJ Toph One surrounded the place with beats and rhythms, spinning his brand of eclectic hip-hop accompanied by jungle breaks. It was warm inside. My friend and I flirted with some girl at the bar. "She has nice tits," he remarked. I thought they were only all right.

We parted. On the way to meet a lover (who the previous night pointed things out to me I had not seen before) I saw some vampiric character eyeing someone passed out in the gutter, a car accident complete with ambulances and fire trucks, and a one-legged man, who stopped to talk. "I didn't hate him so he couldn't hate me back" was all I made out from his story. The light turned green and I split.

She met me on the street in front of her apartment. We decided to go bicycling, even though it had begun to rain. Eventually, we found a place to stop. It was heating up inside; we were happy to be there. It was Bug 'n' Out's Audible Colors at the Top. "They are glorious, aren't they?" she nodded toward the dance floor. The bar was lit in red and violet, and some disco ball split and cast the light spinning over the whole place. It seemed there were angels everywhere. "Fuck," she said, "let's dance."

Later on, with three others, we could have been found laughing uproariously into the urban morning from that classic view atop Alamo Square. We went back to my place and, aided by tea and coffee from Central Coffee Tea & Spice and an interlude with Okina Sushi, spent Thursday discussing the "'errant cause" in Plato's Timaeus. Only as evening was falling did we finally part. In the darkness, my lover and I watched the fog rush in by the yellow light of my neighbors' windows. I put on some mµ-ziq and, well, we turned things upside down, made sure we had something to sleep about, took pains to be sure of our worldwide infiltration, and, you know, traded places.

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From the December 6, 1999 issue of the Metropolitan.

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