I run into you outside the Foreign Cinema and we walk with your dog,Chuck, who wears a bandana, several blocks to the Uptown. We share atall glass of Trumer Pilsner in a dark booth towards the back. You grope my leg, clad in Paper Denim and Cloth dark-washed jeans, as I sip our drink and remember that I have to work the counter tomorrow at Show Biz, selling Onitsuka Tiger sneakers. I can't stand it anymore after you reach for my belt buckle. We arrive at my apartment and the first thing you do after the door slams is press the buckle on my Chrome bag. I instinctively reach back to catch it, but youknowingly have your other hand gripping it by the corner. You set it down softly on the floor so my shiny black Macbook isn't damaged as you violently push me onto the bed. Ever since that afternoon we traded glances over mimosas at Boogaloos, I knew we'd meet again.