MR. REPRESSED

Coming home from Final Cut Pro class, I’m in the W4 station walking the platform and this young black kid is walking my way, saying “queer” as he passes by every single white guy he sees, including me. He probably he has a thing for dick and this is his way of acting out which makes me sad he just doesn’t go and blow someone and just get it over with because it would sure as hell prevent the rest of the nonsense that happend.

I head to the end of the platform, always the end of the platform, which will let me off at the end of the platform at 181st. Shorter walk that way.

I’m reading Harpers now, the station is hot and disgusting and stinks, and I just want to get home and eat dinner. I look up and see Mr. Repressed walking my way with the entourage, his beards, and think this is going to be just swell. But he turns around, walks to the other side of the platform and starts saying shit to a couple, also black, who are embracing and making out. They want to make love, he war.

This all happens so fast I can’t figure out what’s going on, but before I know it he’s trying to get in a fight with this other guy, the lover guy, he’s hurling insults about lover guy’s girlfriend for no reason. No reason necessary. I’m in no mood for this shit and walk to the middle of the platform and I hear Mr. Repressed saying in all seriousness “did you call me a nigger?” to the other black kid which kind of blows my mind, and I stop to see what’s watch because I love a car wreck. Mr. Repressed now has his shirt off like he’s going to brawl, either that or rub lotion all over himself—he’s just about out of the closet and hardly knows it. So close. He should just leave the beards and head to Christopher Street.

The E train comes, I get on and as we’re pulling out three cops have already showed up and are hauling Mr. Repressed off—sans shirt, sans entourage. Jail at last. Maybe he can find a friend there, someone to show him things.