Walking down Avenue A, I reach 13th St. and can see my bike, a block away, safely locked to the lamp post where I left it. I struggled with the lock, needs oiling again, and I need coffee. Ugh. 2pm, and I'm just on my way home. The pounding head is competing with the slim grin on my face, and now that I'm home, aspirin with o.j., and finally, the first sips of morning coffee. Did I really tell that handsome man I might see him out again tonight at the Cock? Cute cute face, we only talked for about 15 minutes before we left (of course, last call had been called while we were chatting). He insisted we go to his place, but wouldn't tell me where that was until he had the cab waiting, and I gestured toward my bike. He laughed. "96th St." and pushed me in the vehicle.