We arrive around 10 PM. I usually go around midnight during the school year, but we've had to move the time up during the summer now that we all have jobs to get up for in the morning. I don't mind, really; this is when all the cute, young boys are here anyway.

We go in and order. I look over the menu like I always do, already knowing what I'll get- what I always get- but looking nonetheless. I order a 'Cartel' caffe mocha. The sizes are so amusing- 'Tall' and 'Cartel', which equate to 'small' and 'medium' on any other drink size hierarchy. Coffee shops always seem to have a need to be creative with the naming of their sizes. I guess that's necessary to justify paying $3.20 for a cup that, filled with almost any other liquid refreshment, wouldn't cost more than $1.19.

The guy behind the counter asks if I want 'head on that'- his amusing synonym for whipped cream. He's probably the most memorable employee here, always smiling and occassionally hitting on the patrons. Well, the male patrons. Some people feel threatened, but I'm just amused.

I turn around, and standing behind me in line is Blue Shirt. This is the regular I lust for the most, the person I most hope to see every time I come here. I've dubbed him 'Blue Shirt' because I think that's always what he wears. Except tonight he's wearing a green sweater vest- there goes that theory. I'll hold on to the name, though- it's become too ingrained in my vocabulary for me to let go. He calmly ignores my stares, but I know he notices. I know better than to think I'm subtle enough for him not to notice. I gave up being subtle a while ago with this one.

We go outside, the only place to be on a nice summer evening. I'm getting eaten by bugs- I really do need to stop using that fruit-smelling body wash- but I wouldn't think of sitting inside. As usual, it's hard to find a table out here; there's just so many people. I don't mind though- that just means more to pick from.

I situate myself at the table so I can see everyone. My patronage started innocently enough. I came with friends to chill out and talk. That this was a 'gay' coffee shop, and the first acknowledged 'gay' place I felt comfortable going to, the prospect of being amongst other gay people became a strong attraction. I still come to hang out with friends; I never go anywhere alone. However, it's the eye candy- the 'view', as I like to call it- that makes me ask my friends if they want to come here almost nightly. With all the schools out for the summer, the view has improved dramatically.

So I watch and comment. I've started commenting a lot lately. It's not that I've never had these thoughts before (I've been having them since early high school), but for the first time I feel free to express them. Unfortunately, all my friends are heterosexual. I push the comments a little further each time, to see where their threshold of acceptance lies. I'm constantly surprised that they never flinch, but I know not to push too far.

In my cartel fantasy, one of those boys- Blue Shirt, I'd hope- approaches me. I wonder what I'd do. I'd be nervous, no doubt, but beyond that I supposed Id really have to be put in the situation to know how it would realistically develop. Yet I've resigned myself to the notion that this fantasy will never become a reality. After all, why should they approach me? I suppose any approaching will have to be done on my part. Perhaps someday I will. Someday...but not today.