hour to launch

One hour before my date with the Photographer. We’re taking a walk in the park; it’s a cold, brightly sunny day out. She has a birthday party to attend at 3.

I have the usual surliness in the gut; it’s a non-Sartrean nausea, mild, but present. After all, I’m meeting another human being, and there’s ego, emotion, fear and desire all flopping around in there. So it's a little nerve-wracking. Once more into the breech, dear friends.

I call these Cyclopean Dates, because they aren’t exactly blind, but even after e-mail, phone, photos, there’s no substitute for the face to face.