What about this guynYou can't really see his facenBut he likes operanHe can't be all badnHere, click on this guy's profile.nnI pick the datenI pick the place for the datenA radical book store to which he, a 47 year old English student has never beennTwo blocks from where he lives on the downtown east sidenIt has a nice little fiction and poetry sectionnnHe crosses the street diagonally and runs his fingers through his hairnQuestion and answer we tell our life stories over dinnernAnd walking in the tourist sector out of herenWhere cruise ships dock and Americans meandernnFallen skier, waiter, party guy nFallen skier, waiter, party guynnHis favorite place to work was a well known Greek resturant nWhere the staff were encouraged to drink, half price upon arriving for worknThe coke-dealer shows up and the day beginsnnFallen skier, waiter, party guynFallen skier, waiter, party guynnOwn four Cadillac El Derados in RomenSelf-described waiter/ski bum until he was 39nThen his parents diednHe didn't handle it very wellnHe didn't handle death very wellnHe took a room in the creepiest of the crappy skid-row hotels and lost his belongings when he couldn't pay the rentnClaims he moved down there because that's where the services arenYou've got your rehab and your detox and your counciling you've got your 12 step and your food banknWarning, warning, red flagnNo one moves to skid row to get cleannNo one moves to skid row to get cleannWill I be playing part of the woman trying to help his life get on tracknHelping him get his life back on tracknnFallen skier, waiter, party guynFallen skier, waiter, party guynnStanding on the piernHalf-watching the sun go downnCloud of mist is giving great definition to the treesnWhich should have been flat and invisiblenI'm thinking of saying something of how the mist is making things clearnBut I decide to keep that thought to myselfnnI feel I'm with a boynA very young boynHe's only been away from home 27 yearsnOnly 27 summersn27 winters of partying and skiingnI guess that's why he hasn't gotten anything together yetnI don't think he realizes it nBut his life has gotten away from himnAfter quitting school in grade 11, he bought a van so he could go on ski trips to VermontnHe didn't leave home until he was 20nnFallen skier, waiter, party guynFallen skier, waiter, party guynnI ask about his plansnHe might like to go backpacking in Europe nSkiing in SwitzerlandnBut not while he's still a studentnI cannot make him a 47 year old mannHe remains a boynTall, skinny, boyish featuresnWith that faded, worried looknnFallen skier, waiter, party guynnSlips into an anxious silencenI feel the urge to ask what's wrongnOh God, let me not start with thatnI think he may have run out of things to saynI told my Reader's Digest version of my life over dinnernWhich makes me realize that I could probably pitch my novel in 2 minutes as a screen playnHe gave no indication of being attracted to menNo compliments, no lingering looks across the table intending to reveal interestnWe didn't talk about relationships or dating expectationsnIt was kind of like being stuck with a visiting friend of a friend getting rooked into going out for dinnernOur conversation was only kind of okaynOnly kind of okaynnFallen skier, waiter, party guynFallen skier, waiter, party guynnNear the endnOut on the piernAfter the sun has gone downnHe asks me about this music of minenIs it ever all out punk?nHe seems concerned that it might be hardcore punknI stand, middle aged woman in a fantastically subtle silk jacket all the way from Japan, Hush Puppies, curly hair flowing in the windnAnd this guy's fretting over the possibility that I'm actually Henry RollinsnI try to explain punk myselfnBut fail on making an impact herenHe never did ask the name of my bandnHe never tried to touch mennFallen skier, waiter, party guynnI ask what sort of music he listens tonHe says his taste is eclecticnMy least favorite answer to a question meant to increase understandingnEclectic in this case means that music isn't really that important to himnIsn't really that important to himnHe says his taste varies, but he's never been into the live music scenenNever been, never been into the live music scenenAfter eclectic comes technonAnd I'm still trying to make him 47nBut he's stuck in my mind a boynA boy that might backpack around Europe once he finishes schoolnnFallen skier, waiter, party guynnCarefully, I ask if he does anything I might call creativenPerhaps he finds creative expression making an espresso, a cappaucinonI don't knownThinks a minute and says he doesn't play music or paint, if that's what I meannBut he does watch TVnFree cable in his creepy, freaky hotel roomnAnd he likes to go, he likes to go to the movies, to the moviesnI can only half think about being so gray and dispassionate to call watching TV creativenI guess to him, art is a hobbynAnd his hobby is being entertainednThe sun is down and I blurt outnI've got to get back to the other side of townnAt my bus stop I ask him if I can give him a hugnI mean, a hug goodbyenWe hug, and he cheers up and decides to wait with me for the busnnFallen skier, waiter, party guynnBy the time I get home nHis email to ask me out againnI should've skipped the hugnI go to bed, rather than him replynPerhaps he's on antidepressants and he's psychoticnMy internet dating experiencenI want to get backnI want to get back tomorrownnFallen skier, waiter, party guynFallen skier, waiter, party guy