Tim called me yesterday to kindly inform me that Spring had finally arrived in New York. Well, fuck you Tim. I hope you get sunburned and your face peels.
He was laying out in the Hudson River Park, the long park that follows the West Side Highway in Manhattan. There is of course a gay part near the West Village where black queens vogue, where Chelsea queens in tiny square cut trunks tan, and where you'll find my friends and I reading issues of US Weekly, and listening to George Michael's "Freedom" on my Ipod speakers.
Missing Springtime in New York is my biggest regret. Once temps break 70, the tank tops come out, and it seems like every hot guy comes out of winter hibernation.
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