Not to harp on the same topic, but twice today I’ve felt like an old man. A skeezy old man. Skeeze 1) I was getting my regular breakfast at Peet’s, turned around from the counter with apple danish in hand and came face to face with one of the most spectacularly beautiful men I’ve ever seen. Thick muscles, think lips, thick hair, oh, you know, the usual perfection. I stopped in my tracks, my jaw dropped, it’s possible I gasped. I also realized as I was standing there gaping that I was blocking his progress to the cash register. I only hope he’s so accustomed to stunning passersby with his good looks that he didn’t notice.
Skeeze 2) I’m organizing several filming segments for a content aggregator web site and a new cameraman showed up just now, apparently taking time off from his other job as a Professional Beauty. Curly black hair, skin Lancome can only dream of approximating and the adorable face of a Renaissance putti. I had to talk to him at length about the video and forced myself not to stare at the nipples poking through his shirt. Eventually I had to cut it short and flee before I started drooling.
It’s the burden of living in San Francisco. I suppose the subway going home tonight will be filled with porn stars.