2009-09-30 - 4:51 p.m.
I was staying in an apartment with Preston. It consisted of the parlor floor of a brownstone-type house, but it was wider and more Colonial than Victorian. In the front room there was a dark wood dining table (like the one grandpa made) and a crystal chandelier. No chairs though. Maybe some crappy ones around the wall. It clearly was not kept in as stately a state as it had been intended for. The door into that room from the hallway was smaller than it should have been and there were a couple steps that led down into the room. At one point I followed Preston out into the street. He was lying on the cobblestones in his brown corduroy jacket and white boxers. He wouldn't get up unless I got on the ground and spooned with him for a bit. I was scared of spooning in the street but didn't know how else to get him back in the house. As we lay, I looked up and saw a car coming. I cringed as it swerved and just missed my head. Eventually Preston consented to get up. There were some old rich people in the hall when we came in. They owned the house and were scandalized at our behavior. Later, a stack of large 'tickets' awaited Preston on the main table, stamped with an official looking crest and lots of flowery language basically amounting to indecent behavior in public.
