Some moments later the young man asked a question but the music was so loud that Greg had to ask him to repeat it twice before he understood. Did he recognize the music?

He said that it sounded familiar. Which was true. And then he realized that it was the music which introduces the Lone Ranger, but he couldn't name it.

The young man pointed at the glass sitting on the coffee table. "Don't you drink orange juice, either?"

"Is this for me?" he asked, relieved that it was orange juice, ashamed to admit that he had thought it something stronger.

"Did you think I was going to drink two?"

Greg picked up the orange juice and drank it in embarassment. He leaned over to place the empty glass on the coffee table and an arm went around his shoulder... Now it was dark. "Are you hungry?" the young man asked.

"Not very," Greg said, but he was glad that they would have supper together in this room. He looked at the small table and two chairs next to the kitchenette separated from the living room by a curtain. This was the first night, he reflected, wondering how often he would come here for supper or to spend the night. He was still dreaming about this when he comprehended the next question:

"Where do you want to eat?"

"Uh... anywhere you do."

"I usually eat at a gay bar."

"I don't think I should. Would you believe that I've never been in a bar?" "Yes, I'd believe it." Again the loud, malicious laugh.

How could he leave this cozy room for a bar? But the young man insisted. “Aw, come on. It's early yet and not many people will be there. We'll just eat. Why not?"

Greg decided to go. After all, he would have to frequent bars now. Where else would he meet his kind?

"All right-if you say it's all right.”

They boarded a bus and rode several blocks. Greg was terrified in the bar, but not long. For a reason which he didn't understand and which the young man didn't explain, the bar wasn't open for business.

They returned downtown on the bus and ate supper at a restaurant. It was raining when they left. They stood for a moment in front of the restaurant and the young man asked, "Where are you going now?"

Wasn't he going home with him? No, he realized, he wasn't. The young man hadn't even introduced himself. He hadn't said anything to indicate that he wanted to see Greg again.

"I'll have to look for a room. Where is a good place to stay around here?” "The Y is the cheapest," and the way he said it made plain to Greg that the young man knew he would be looking for the cheapest.

He started to leave, realizing that something had gone wrong, but wanting to remain and ask: Who are you? What are you? What do you think, feel? What do you want? How can I help you?

But he asked another question: "When do you think the rain will end?" "Who knows? So why ask the question?"

Greg wanted to say: "Why don't you leave? You've had all you want from me; why don't you leave?" But he couldn't and he didn't want to be the first to leave. Would it be like this the next time? And the next?

Finally he said, "Well, I don't guess the rain will end soon. I'd better go." "Have fun," the young man said.

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