2002-08-31 12:51 p.m.
unlikely

So, after weeks of bantering at work about how gay I may or may not be (this all stemming from an online Gayometer test, where I scored a 46%), I was propositioned by a sketchy black guy on my way home from having margaritas last night with a sweet new friend.

This guy immediately screamed bad energy to me.

"Hey, man, you know where I could find any gay bars around here?" (Mind you, this was the Financial District. If there were,they'd be dull as dishwater.)

"No, man, I don't."

"You sure? You into that stuff at all?"

"Whether I am or not, I can't tell you something I don't know. I just don't."

"Oh. Well, you into that kinda shit? I mean, I got two or three hundred dollars."

Okay, fucking whoa. Let me paint the picture. I'm still in my work clothes, walking a little wobbily because I was still under the influence of two hefty drinks, but I looked far from your average rent boy. Shit, I don't even know what one looks like.

"No, man, I'm not," I said, fixing him with a firm gaze that screamed, "you'd best fuck off out of my life now."

"You sure? You not into that shit at all?"

"NO."

And I walked.