Waves

The first time my eyes were laid on David, he was leaning against the wall, left leg up, one hand in his pocket on the faded tight jeans slightly embracing his rear curve, cigarette on the other. His grey and green eyes were dimly lit under the neon light from the funkiest bar in town.

David is at the point of life where he would describe as “you do or you don’t”. Men at this age are usually more self-assured and also deadly dangerous since they know how to work their ways around you, making you feel special for a minute and a half and then collecting evidence way before you realized what was going on. But David was different.

He asked me about Burma. Of course, I saw Jorge’s shadow in the corner of the bar again, resonating with retro James Brown sound. But then, David cast it all away with his French accent upon talking about how he wanted to grab Lana Del Rey by the shoulder and shake her to dead in order for her wish to come true, how he grew up without a mom and under the neglect of his father, how he moved from men to men and how he found the textile industry here amusing.

I then shared my Pokemon and travel stories, the man I met and somehow in between, managed to insert some crude jokes regarding David’s confusion regarding the meaning of the words “expose” and “explode”. He played along by stating that he could always gather my pieces in the aftermath of the explosion.

“What’s on your bag?” He asked, gazing curiously at my usually mistaken for camera holder bag. Playful as my regular mood, I let him play this “feel and guess” game, with his hand touching various objects inside my bag. I remembered how he cracked a much suppressed laughter upon finding some condoms in a hidden pocket. The guy’s got good hands and wit, I have to say, since when it came to my Burmese cigars, his answer was “something illegal.”

Time went by so fast that 1 am had come already before our biological clock began to strike. We decided to call it a night. A slight hug was exchanged before the long road headed us separate ways.

“This is my lighter, with a 500 Euro note on it, so that you won’t have to steal lighters anymore…,” he paused for a while, eyes glancing my unobstructed facial expression.

“… and when you use it, you’ll think of me.”

Normally, my date would end up in some random bedroom with me being convinced that it was the way adulthood work. But then, the date with David reminded me that somewhere, in one pale street corner, two souls could still accompany each other in the purest sense.

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This entry was published on April 20, 2015 at 4:25 am. It’s filed under David and tagged , , . Bookmark the permalink. Follow any comments here with the RSS feed for this post.

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