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rolls, and I ate everything to please her— the summer rolls, the spicy eggplant, and the bean curd with ginger sauce. She takes food very seriously and I always let her order when we eat out. Shecomplains that I eat like a bird, but it’s not true; it’s just that sometimes when I’m with her I’m too nervous to eat. I’m too nervous to do anything properly. For example, during our meal I remarked that my chopsticks looked strange and Terri looked at them and pointed out that I was holding them upside-down. She laughed uproariously and even though I laughed too I was really furious at myself because she already has this image of me as some bumbling space cadet, which I’m not.
    While we were eating, she told me that her brother in Ohio told her he thought it took “guts” for me to move here. She was implying that her brother admired me for moving here in defiance of everyone, including her. I think she was fishing for some indication of how I still felt about her. I could have said, “Yeah it took guts, and I’m not through yet,” or something to indicate that I’m still sweet on her. But I just smiled and said, “Oh, really?” I suppose she doesn’t know if I’m still in love with her, and it bothers her. I’m propelled by my intuition, but she’s propelled by knowledge; without knowing something, she loses her bearings. Even though she thinks she’s already decided that I’m not “The One,” she would still want to know if I still love her. And how can she know, when I haven’t told her? I have this old habit of assuming people know how I feel because my feelings are so potent, roiling around inside of me. But in reality I’m harder to read than most people.
    We took the train back to Dupont Circle and I walked with her to her apartment, but then she said she was tired and she hoped I didn’t mind this time if she didn’t invite me in. The tentacles of pain started reaching for me. Butthen she kissed me goodbye on the mouth and the garlic on her breath caressed me like the first soft gust of spring. She said jauntily, “I’m glad you’re here, Knadel!” Then she grinned and turned and sauntered into her building. I walked home and got undressed and got into bed and I realized I was horny as hell. I snatched up my vibrator and tried to summon up my prison warden fantasy, but then Terri burst in and before I could stop her she was fucking me with her “lady luck” dildo, whispering obscenities in my ear. I have resolved to keep her out of my fantasies until I can have her again in reality, but last night there was nothing I could do— she just swaggered into my S&M scene and took over, bumping aside my beloved prison warden.
    But today I’m a little depressed because Terri didn’t invite me in last night. I keep thinking it’s because I held my chopsticks upside-down. It’s so ridiculous, but I keep thinking about it, and then I think that Terri is right to not want such a silly ass who obsesses about chopsticks, and then I go right back to thinking about it. Do most people have such ridiculous thoughts when they’re almost fifty years old? I know people do have ridiculous thoughts when they’re in love. But I’m wondering if I’m being even more ridiculous and obsessive than most people who are in love. Isn’t this what children do when they’re about thirteen? I didn’t. When I was thirteen, I was a tough little customer. “But I was so much older then . . . I’m younger than that now.” Dylan said that.

    I feel a bit sheepish to admit this, but it turns out that my rooming house does have characteristics of a deviant flophouse. Even though physically it’s clean and well-kept, the residents are all wacko. Of course, I have become friends with all of them. Like Willi says, I have no boundaries.
    I’ve started to wonder if