Walking down to the commmunity center yesterday morning to meet Friday (he didn't show) and do laundry, by way of the Zionist Synagogue, as I crossed the intersection in front of the Druid Temple, I was hailed by a man sitting with Sally the espresso vendatrix at her outside Cote d'Azur-type cafe tables with large colorful parasols, in loud, glad tones calling "Anatole!" who drew me to his bosom when I came up to him. It was Ham (Hamilton) Beech, whom I haven't seen for more than two decades, and who married Gloria Nevens/McBeth/Borogrove, who was my best sidekick, though ten years younger than myself, in the glorious Early Seventies. Ham is now the "Executive Director" for the Synagogue, wears a pinstripe Armani suit, and looks maybe ten of the twenty-three years since we last saw one another. Sally, who like all good vendeuses de cafe' is a shrewd judge of character, watched with gratified awe the cordial Bushi-do of Ham's and my reunion. Ham gave me their home phone number and I called Gloria from Kristen's that evening and we talked till my ear nearly fell off. Turns out Ham and I (I'm learning this from Gloria, mind) were both at the U of O at the same time: We are both Ducks! Imagine. I still haven't seen Ham to see his reaction to this astounding coincidence; I imagine I'll get my hand wrung and my back patted.

I'm about to flee the Palace. If I don't weird out the landlady (of a particular apartment that I've already seen and fallen in love with) when I call her tomorrow, I'll hand her my SSI pittance on the first of next month, instead of paying rent here at the Palace. Working it out--so that Friday can crash there as much as he needs to (There are two rooms and a miniscule bath), Perhaps even retaining my internet cable service, without driving either of us nuts, or making it a marriage/commitment sort of thing--has been the subject of delicate, volatile, nay uproarious, negotiation between us. When I tried to explain to him how the world looks to us Dons Quixotes and Robinson Crusoes, and where Sanchos and Men Fridays fit in it, he went ballistic.