On Sunday, we went to the Dekalb Farmer’s Market on Ponce. At the checkout, I saw a man. He was easily the most gorgeous man I have ever seen in my life. He surpasses all of my fantasies combined: Brandon, Maynard, Christian, Cillian, even my vampire fantasies. At least six feet tall, with black wavy hair as long as mine with a slight reddish hue, he stood before me in a strange brown Native-American-like outfit with cutoff sleeves and black boots. From where I stood, I never saw his face, which I assume to be as beautiful as he seemed from his entrancing profile, large nose intact. I have a thing for large or unusual noses. He left before we did. Upon exiting the building, I scanned the parking lot, with a vulture-like keenness, in the direction I saw him walk. I spotted him, but the vast gleam of parked cars limited my view from the waist down, and still no sign of his face. Of course, ever since we left the building, I had been going ape shit. I wanted to scream. In fact, I nearly was; gushing all that I felt and saw and wanted to my lover who walked beside me. Luckily, he showed no visual signs that my fanatical behaviour was upsetting him, but I don’t think it would have mattered if I had noticed. Of course, every day I see someone I find attractive, I am having a bad outward appearance day. This day was no different, but it seemed his beatific magnitude crushed my ego, my self-esteem, everything I would have needed to approach him, had I had the chance. But we were checking out at a market, crowded and sweltering with hot September bodies, and I wasn’t sure how my lover would take it. He’s probably second-guessing himself in his sleep right now. I couldn’t help it. I still can’t. He’s the best I’ve ever seen.