(I have to lose weight for an upcoming — minor — operation, and this is the diary of how it makes me feel)
Day Seven
Late last night I met someone who caught my fancy earlier; he was short and slim and handsome and wearing ripped white pants. After stuff happened, he was adamant ‘I’m twenty-seven. How old are you how old are you how old are you?’ I kept saying ‘very old.’ He guessed — ‘thirty” and ‘thirty two?’ I said ‘I am your grandfather —you just had sex with your grandfather.’ But he wouldn’t give up so I finally told him the truth: ‘sixty-six.' It didn’t phase him; he asked me to put my number in his phone. His name is Donny and he is from Tel Aviv, and we talked about my visit there two years ago.