Saturday night, people blurred, joined, and split apart. I had had a weed brownie, drank some whiskey, and ate some mushrooms. I danced or didn't. I wandered around a lot. At some point, I hid my shirt and jacket underneath a stage. I made out with a boy who soon turned into two boys.

At some point in the early morning, I left with the two boys. I couldn't find my jacket or shirt, had awful thoughts about being that mess of a person walking around New York in November (any month really) without a shirt on. Luckily one of these guys let me borrow his overshirt. It for some reason reminded me of a shirt that Malcolm might wear on The Cosby Show.

This guy, this shirt-lender, this true gentleman, at some point en route to leaving told me he just wanted to sleep with me, did not want to have a threesome. We went to get in a taxi, the two of us, and soon again it was three. It was an awkward taxi ride back to my house where neither of us said anything. Only once the taxi stopped, once this person travelled to my house, did I tell him that I was going home with this other person. It was a very awkward moment, but I was happy for vocalizing my desires in a situation where normally I wouldn't, where normally I would just go with the flow.

The sun was up. His dick was huge. It was beautiful. In that high state, I came to idolize it, less so hungover in the afternoon when we finally woke up.