Tucson trepidations.

Was enjoying an afternoon of Dillinger Days here in Old Tucson. It is a block party where they close off the main drag and have a great big wingding. Celebrating the capture and death of that old gangster John Dillinger. The street was lined with candy-colored cars from the 1910s and 1920s. Various people walked about in period clothes of the 1930s. There was a stage where Mariachi's wailed and Aztec costumed dancers danced and I felt the nostalgic pang of Mexico. One young Mariachi had pants on so tight it didn't leave much to the imagination. So, Tucson’s citizens milled around under the bright white afternoon sun checking out the vintage cars and I checked out the strolling guys.
Two facts about Tucson come to mind:
It is a lesbian mecca. Strolling down 4th Avenue, Tucson's equivalent to Hillcrest or West Hollywood, or Castro Street, I was surprised at the amount of frumpy boot-wearing flannelled lesbians that clomped around the street. Almost all the cafes, bookstores, and vendors were teeming with these stubby-mulleted denizens. I was filled with a sense of imposing dread. This is definitely a lezbo-controlled community. My caseworker at Primavera is a sinister man loathing dyke and she has it out for me.
Second thing. Taking the bus to and fro I have noticed that the general population has no fashion sense whatsoever. Almost everyone looks like a transient or deranged Vietnam vet. Every bus line I have taken at least once a drunken Indian has gotten on and luck would have it always sat with me, "I hate fucking white people!" One hissed halitosis and beer into my appalled face. When I first arrived in this town I always felt overdressed and self-concerned. I still do. These people can use some tips from the Fashionatrix.
Well, so there I sat, staring at that Mariachi's impressive crotch, gobbling down a huge carne asada burrito, when I heard, "Hey, white boy."
That voice. That accented baritone voice. I recognized it immediately.
David Miranda.
About five years ago...maybe four...I stopped in Tucson on my way from Las Vegas to El Paso. In front of the public library, I met this Mexican guy who had just crossed over from the border. We hit it off pretty well. He stayed with me in my room in the Hotel Congress during the two weeks I was in Tucson. Six feet two, light-colored skin, wavy brown hair, and those beautiful green eyes! I melt every time he looks at me and flashes that heart-stopping smile. Unfortunately, I was returning to Mexico, so I had to bid him farewell.
So, flash forward, and there he was. Standing in front of me and he looked as handsome as ever. After a half hour of swapping what had happened since stories, I told David that I decided to live in Tucson until further notice and he went completely ape shit. He was so happy that we spent the rest of the day hanging out on 4th Avenue visiting shops, eating dinner, and talking about sweet and funny things. I confided in him that I resided at Primavera, but since I was employed, I was going to rent an apartment on the first of February. He smiled and whispered in my ear how he wanted to break in the new apartment. My cock snapped to attention.
I felt so good. So alive. It was really great to see David again. I think this Tucson thing just might work out after all.