Could I, Gregory Shamus, be destined for the life of a successful artist? Not just one of thousands of people who say they are and never amount to anything?
If it is, I have no one but Donna to thank for it. Ever since she's entered my life, good things have happened. In fact, since I've been in Haven House, my life has straightened out.
Harold no longer has to go out with me. Thank God for that.
Donna is now my new partner. I'm not sure how she swung it, but if I had to listen one more time to Harold telling me that he hadn't masturbated in at least twelve hours I think I would have screamed.
Harold told me that he works for some conservative newspaper in Orange County as an Editorial Columnist and that most of the articles he writes about are on the evils of homosexuality-- about how homosexuals are predators, preying on the innocent. But from what Harold had told me about his exploits in the parks or at public restrooms, I think he was writing about himself.
I'm glad I never sank that low as to tap my foot three times in a bathroom stall to see if the guy next to me wants a blow job.
Then the thought comes to me.
Maybe there isn't much difference between him and me. We both went with whoever was willing to have sex with us. I did it in a bed, he did it in the bushes.
That thought chills me to the bone.
