The music was blaring so loud I could hardly follow the conversation of the guy in front of me. Above him on the large video screen Shakira was dancing with reckless abandon, purring into the microphone with so much sexual innuendo that if my mother was in the room I would be blushing. Fortunately, I was not with my mother. I was at Club Cafe, one of Boston's busiest gay clubs, sipping my last gin and tonic of the night, smiling and chatting with a handsome, friendly guy originally from Miami.
As we chatted more I realized this guy was more than just a coy, Latino. He had something to say and a desire to be heard. He liked to write and engaged in witty banter. He was interested in meeting guys in his adopted home, Boston and I was flattered by the attention. Maybe we could become friends. Time would tell. I've been down this road before and an interesting conversation late on a Friday night does not necessarily translate into an acknowledgment when seeing each other sober, by the light of day at the gym, in the mall or walking down Newbury Street with friends could evoke a completely different reaction. However, I thought to myself, I'll say hello if I see this journalist / author. He seems like a nice guy.
