area. The old man's question boiled in me, as I passed The Masque for the fifth time, "What are you looking for?." The answer wasn't so simple this time. I didn't know, but I was deperate to find it. I'd know when it came.

Somebody pulled on my arm. It was a John. I knew one thing: I didn't need a Jonn around. He wore an unpressed, grease-spotted suit; the blood vessels in his face bulged from alcohol. He was co ber --the kind of sober one is after twenty years or the bottle.

"Where are the girls?", he asked.

"Mister, if I knew, I'd be there myself." He wouldn't let go of my arm.

"Where are all the girls? I'm Jimmie Otis. They all know me."

"I don't know, Sir," those bleary Bambi eye s pleading at me.

"I'm not trying to annoy you, I just wanna know where the girls are. They all love me; I buy 'em drinks and we talk, that's all."

"Sir, if I know where they were, I'd tell you. I have to go. I have to meet someone."

He leaned closer, "Don't be mad at me. I just wanna soe the girls". I pulled my arm away, I pulled my arm away, "I have to moot someone." Then he to ok my hand, and kis sed it, almost with reverence. The old Cavalier.

I have to

I hauled away, and charged up the street. meet some cne." Oh, I'm too much, even for myself. Damn Johns, always louse up the gay soere like ghosts. Only there wasn't any gay scene.

All the way to the car, I knew. I know before I came back. The re's nobody in Jordan Street for Jimmie Otis, Nobody. There never was. One of us was pathetic, the other, a fool. I figure I know which is which.

or me.

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