The Houseboys of Summer

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How poignant Labor Day always seems; the end of summer and all that. Even in San Francisco, we say goodbye to barefoot days; fresh tomatoes and peaches; and houseboys like Flaubert Herakles here undressing beneath the I-280 overpass under the mistaken impression that they are, in fact, at the beach. Silly pusses.

About mrpeenee

A former bon vivant and terror of a number of New Orleans bars in the mad, gay 1980s, I'm now quietly retired and widowed in San Francisco. I have a crooked nose due to an unfortunate Frisbee accident.

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