The bit about his mother sounded sad because it was possibly true. He exited the train. Was he a clown? There was some speculation between me and J., and likewise I think between the boy-girl couple. He had a bag, his costume could have been stuffed into it, but he didn't wear big shoes.
After the party, off the last train and back in our neighbourhood, two men walked in front of us, moony and amorous, leaning into and on each other in the sharp midnight air. So cute, whispered J. I was charmed, too, but was busy thinking about breakfast the next morning and gabbing about how I should have gotten some Cooper bread yesterday at Budgens. At the sound of my voice, the small woman with frazzled hair who walked between us and the two loved-up men, turned sharply back, glared at me and growled: IS EVERYBODY FUCKING GAY?
She didn't wait for a response, and parted ways from us huffily. By the time we'd turned the corner, we had separated from the two men. We saw them stop and smooch under a tree across the road. Theirs was the adrenaline of something new. Then they crossed over and walked just behind us. I turned and spoke to them: Did you hear — I could barely speak through the giggles induced by the free wine and the angry lady — what that woman said? I proceeded to tell them the scenario. Yeah, tell her everyone is gay!, said one with cheerful indignation. His partner just smiled handsomely. Have a good night, I called out. Yeah, the chatty one replied: Be well. BE GAY! I think I might have said you too or just laughed, slightly embarrassed, and we scurried on.