I ran into Noah after brunch. He was pacing in the mist,

smoking a skinny Fantasia cigarette.

“So did you see the show?”

I gave a physical definition of “waffling”; wiggled back

and forth, murmured noncommittally.

“No, I want to know.” He stopped smoking and looked

plaintive.

“I didn’t think it was very good, but,”

“I DISAGREE.”

NO HOMO