Sensuous

28 March — Sunday

There was no one at the concert I recognized. A couple of men seemed to be eyeing me but I’m not sure. Unattractive anyway. One of them had no chin. Not his fault, but why doesn’t he hide it with a beard?

Stopped for a cup of coffee on one of the crooked West Village streets afterward. Not sure precisely where I was. Sat alone and a boy asked if I minded if he shared my table. Long hair and a beard and hippie clothes, so it was hard to tell his age, but I would guess about nineteen or twenty.

Started a conversation with me. Asked if I had an old man. Seemed an odd question but I said no, my father died years ago. He said he meant did I have a husband or a man I was living with. Said I didn’t.

Asked me if I would like to go back to his place. “Smoke, drink some wine, see if we can get it together.” Perfectly straightforward. Said no, I didn’t think so. He nodded and said it was cool and maybe he would see me around sometime, and got up and went and sat at another table.

Had this urge to flee the place immediately, but decided he was right, it was cool, and I sat and took my time finishing my coffee and smoked a cigarette and then paid my check and left. No one else approached me.

He was so open about it, so casual about it. I must have seemed incredibly square in his eyes.

I wonder what it would have been like if I went with him. Doubt I’ll ever see him again. Doubt I could find that particular coffee house if I went looking for it.

Just as well I came home alone.

I got up from the typewriter and read the Times for awhile. I guess I don’t feel like writing about Wayne and Maureen tonight or I wouldn’t have already bothered reporting on Friday night at such length. Wrote about the one because I didn’t want to write about the other — why do I keep doing that?

No, more to it. Also had the conversation with the boy on my mind and wanted to get it down.

Wayne and Maureen.

No, I think I’ll wait until tomorrow. There’s no rush. And if I don’t get to it tomorrow, or ever, that’s all right, too.

The object isn’t to put down everything. The object is to put down what I want to put down when I want to put it down.

If I can write sentences like that, today is definitely not the time to write about Wayne and Maureen. Now is the time to get into a nice hot tub and soak for a few hours and have maybe two drinks before dinner and another drink after and get to bed early. A good night’s sleep would not hurt. Got so little sleep last night, late to bed and awake automatically at eight-thirty, and I have to face Monday morning tomorrow, never that easy to face but easier on a sound sleep.

Night-night, Smith-Corona Electra 110. I am turning off your little yellow light and putting you to bed.