Camine and I flew his kite late in the afternoon, in the park. I lay on his chest, as we watched the bird soar high above us in the blue sky. He used to fly kites with his father, his father was mad about them, about the only thing he used to do with Camine.
The wind whistled in our ears, so we didn't talk much, just listened. We just lay there and enjoyed the snow-dome-effect from that view from the centre of the oval. It was just like we were looking up from the inside, for a change.
We hugged. We kissed. We lay all over each other. Camine is nice to pash. The dope made our heads fuzzy and our bodies heavy on the green grass, We were disturbed by an old couple, the only people who walked by, all afternoon, and it must have looked like we were a couple.
Camine said he hadn't had physical contact in... he couldn't remember how long.
We took the old couple as a sign that we shouldn't do it again. We laughed about the pinched faces, if only they knew and decided to head in doors to continue further.
Camines's is single, big, boofy Italian. Manny would have been cool.
The grass stretched away from us as far as we could see.
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