Yesterday afternoon
I was too heat-struck to make it to the gym, and I found myself wandering out
to the end of what we used to call the Christopher Street pier. Since its
chic re-design and the purging of the crack whores and drag queens who used to
crawl all over it and made the place really worth visiting the once-crumbling dock has been rebranded Hudson River Park.
Quite cruisy on a normal sunny afternoon (or at least looky-cruisy, the
getting-down-to-business cruising being done largely online now), the few guys
who were languishing under the raging sun and hundred-plus temperatures were
too lazy to muster much enthusiasm. They lay on their sides, tongues hanging
out of their mouths, like elderly lions on the veldt too worn out to chase
after the once-appetizing zebras that saunter pass.
I did see one fellow
walking up and down the street end of pier-which is decidedly more straight-jabbering away on his cell phone wearing only Prada sunglasses and a
speedo. I’ve noticed a pronounced move towards male shirtlesness on the streets
of
