I met him on the roof of my building. It was the day after the Fourth of July. I’d gone up to sit in the sun, no sunscreen, nothing, which I know is the least cool thing you can do nowadays; it’s so obviously bad for you. But I don’t care; it was a long cold winter here, and I feel like I am still thawing out.
There was no one else on the roof, except 4 young, or at least way-younger-than-me, people–3 guys and a girl. We started talking. Turned out they were all dancers, though with different companies. One of them was apartment-sitting for a neighbor in my building. It was 3:00 in the afternoon, the sun blazing, and they were all drinking coffee from Starbucks. “Coffee? Wait a minute, where’s the beer?” I said–after all, this was Sunday.
Then it hit me: Of course, they all just woke up. They had been out partying all night at a dive bar called, yes, “Dive Bar,” and had gotten to bed at exactly the time I had gotten up: 7:30 a.m. (Was I ever that young? I thought to myself. I really don’t remember….) Even so, they all looked beautiful, fresh, sexy.
“Okay, who’s first?” I said. “I’m taking pictures of each of you.”
“I’m in,” said the one with the Nirvana t-shirt.
“What’s your name?”
“Let’s go, Matt. My name’s Billy.”