Gay glasgow jungs

Another Dead Guy at Trader Joe’s

By Gordon Glasgow

For my father

There’s always a crazed atmosphere when the weather starts to get friendly again. I sort of don’t like it. It makes me nervous. As a social animal, unless I’m very comfortable with someone, I’m an incredibly awkward being, not at ease in my possess skin. Winter this year went by far too quick. I suppose as I continue to age it’ll feel like that pretty often, things and seasons and experiences and meetings going by at a pace that can only be deemed uncontrollable, inexplicable. ‘When the weather gets warm again, all the wankers reappear,’ my father would always tell at the dawn of spring. And now, due to his illness, he doesn’t say much at all. I recoil; this isn’t an environment in which I thrive. The clocks used to move forward later in the year but now, at least in the U.S., we lose an hour at the beginning of March. I’ve refused to reset the two clocks that hang in my apartment. It’s all made up anyway, I’m living a little behind you.

One of my first jobs out of college was a short-lived stint at some awfu