Deflated

I spent most of this week grappling with a flu bug that stuck like tar. I couldn't shake the little beasties and their sinus-attacking brand of pestilence. It didn't affect my appetite at all. Of course not! I could be riddled with leprosy and debating whether to call the Thai place around the corner or the Chinese place I have to drive to that has the orange chicken I like.

Yesterday it felt like the flu bug wasn't done with me, but I awoke this morning feeling human. However, one of the side effects of this minor disease is a cold sore on my lower lip. Ugh! This time it wasn't so bad, and it's mostly healed except for a small scab. Whatever, I felt fine as I set about my morning constitutional. In fact, I felt great. I walked and walked. I came 'round a corner at one point and some Gays were having a yard sale, except all the stuff looked expensive and all the tables were covered with white tablecloths and they had water with lemon slices available to slake one's thirst. One of the Gays looked over at me, cocked his head and smiled. I smiled back. He strolled up, studying my face. He was lean and rangy, with dark curls, and tanned golden-brown; his teeth glowed like a pack of fresh Chiclets.

"I'd like to ask you a personal question," he said.

"Okay," I replied, tremulous and dazzled. He grinned magnificently.

"I'm part of a research group testing a new medicine for herpes. Are you having an outbreak, or is that just a cold sore?"


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