Blind Date

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Stairs and more stairs lead me upward. I could have taken the elevator but I really could use the exercise. Not that I am overweight. I just need to stay in shape.


A meeting. No, a date. Is it a date? A blind date. Not that the word date came up in conversation but it was through text. Not direct, but a friend we share brought us together. Our friend, who shall remain nameless, sent us both a text about the other. Not that we have not crossed paths but only in small talk. His name, what was his name?


So, the word date was not mentioned but it was implied, I think. I mean why else would you arrange a meeting of two gay men. I think he's gay. I am. Does that really mean it's  a date? I would hate to assume, presume, something like that only to find out otherwise.


The restaurant is on the top floor. How fancy. Can I afford fancy? Maybe, just this once.


I begin to wonder if I should have skipped the exercise and taken the elevator.


I open the last door. The restaurant is in sight. There is still time to go home and text him that I have a cold or a family emergency. I could take the elevator down, no way I'm taking those stairs again, and go home or to a club. I could cruise the clubs. Take someone home. Something simple. Just one night of passion. No, I will go through with this date, meeting, and see what happens... 

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