This story is a series of quick introductions to the tenants of the building Marc lives in while in San Francisco: Ron and Val, the gay leather couple next door; Avery, the radio talk show host who lives on the top floor; Tam and Tycho, gay roommates (but not that kind) in the apartment below Ron and Val; Sam and Sam, an inter-racial and inter-orientational married couple (he’s gay, she’s a lesbian) in the apartment below Marc; Agnes and Doris, the ancient landladies; their hihg-powered lawyer neice, Suzanne; and Grace, the illegal alien (yes, that kind) who lives in the basement.      We heard one of the roommates screech from inside the apartment.      “Jesus Christ, Tam!  Get your mind out of the gutter!  Soft corn tortilla!”      “They really do like each other,” Ron said.      “I could really care less about football,” I said.  “Just give me the important information: who won, who lost, and if anyone got seriously injured.  (That’s the only reason anyone watches, right?)  Don’t give me player names and statistics.  I can’t even name most of the players.  Like that running back — or whatever he is — Deion something-or-other.”      “Warwick,” Tam said.  “Deion Warwick.” (for Mark Chapa; d. January, 1998)      When Ron and I came back in the room, Tam was quoting a bit from Sondheim’s Assassins.      (“See what you started?” Ron said.)      “Why is it that these rednecks always have three names?” Tam quoted.  “James Earl Ray.  John Wilkes Booth.”      “Sally Jesse Raphael!” I injected.      “Briefs or boxers?” Tam said.      “Excuse me?” I replied, and slapped his hand as reached for my pants.  “Neither.”      Tam looked at the list in his hand.  I saw the words “Betting Pool” through the paper.      “No fair, Ron!” Tam said.  “You helped him unpack!”   Click here to return to the main Signature Quotes page Click here to return to the main Missing Lynx page
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