Hot Time, Summer in the City

idntitapity. Indeed. What could be more of a pity than the fact that on Sunday when I was running around the Castro with friends in from out of town, the place was infested with more cute boys than I have ever seen there at one time, and yet today, when I was there armed with my camera, it was cuteboy-free. Dammit.

Castro, sans cuteboys

Where is everybody?

And what a fabulous first day of summer it was, you would think the ideal time to lure out muscley youths who had forgotten their shirts at home. Many of my photos today were taken looking straight up at the dazzlingly blue sky, a sky that had absolutely no fog in it.

I was not lying down in the street, I was just so impressed with the clear skies. Honest.
The air was warm, just on the cusp of being hot. Everyone reveled in it.

mrpeenee, and his pet hydrangea, reveling in San Francisco’s heat wave.

What could be more summery than riding around with your hand hanging out the window
Queer pride comes to SF. Yay.
The only cute guy I saw and I didn’t even get a good shot of him. Again, dammit.
The best part of this, the most fabulous day was that one of my most favorite restaurants, Chow, has a beauty of a new waiter. Porn quality, actually.

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.

9 responses »

  1. “The only cute guy I saw and I didn't even get a good shot of him. Again, dammit.”

    Well he is the cutest one legged guy I've seen in awhile except for Bob with one leg…


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s