homeboy

[img cred: american apparel]

story time.

in new york, i've found, you will always be taken care of. last night, when walking home after a pretty crazy time dancing with friends, i stopped into the belgian fries place on seventh and a. i was wearing a cutoff tee shirt that exposed about an inch of my stomach in standing position and short, rolled up cutoffs. also hoping to get satisfaction via fried potatoes were some guidos from long island standing to the left of me. this is where my trouble started.

there were three guys, and one was particularly opinionated. he was short with glasses and had a thick, crass accent. after he ordered his fries he looked at me and said, "you get stopped in the street for lookin like that? that's indecent exposure." i was already in the mood for starting shit, but started slow and responded with, "yep, that's what happened." he mentioned something to his friend about how he "used to live in this neighborhood, and shit like this wouldn't fly back then. faggot," clearly not worried about me hearing.

i shot back with, "want a piece of this?" and grabbed my big gay cock. he responded with something very sixth grade about how he bet i had a small penis and i told him he still wanted to suck it. i pushed him, he pushed back. i brushed his face, he kicked me. i kicked him, and his friend got between us. at this point i had my fries but was ready to rip this motherfucker's head off. a group of people was gathering outside, naturally on my side since we were in alphabet city three days from the gay pride parade.

i got a little ways outside, one of the friends holding back the sphincter, when this tall, skinny black queen who must have been in his forties wearing short shorts and a green tank top grabbed my shoulder. "go home, eat your fries. this is new york city, someone's gonna get him sooner or later." i stopped and thought "he's right". there's nothing i could do that would make anything better at all. i left, and though i was seriously considering hiding around a corner with a rock to bludgeon the cunts, i didn't. i'm not saying that violence isn't the answer because i think it can be, and you have to learn to defend yourself and your beliefs physically and verbally. but the guy who pulled me away did allow me to walk away feeling validated because of the fact that i knew i was right, and everyone on the street knew i was right, and most of new york city knew i was right. it allowed me to walk away without any question that the harasser was a lunatic back woods faggot.


moral of the story, you will be taken care of.