hippies

The man with perfect biceps at the table next to me is talking with his friend. They are discussing his wife's naked pictures on the internet. "But it's just from here down," he adds, motioning from the base of his neck to his crotch. "Nobody knows it's her, unless they know about her birthmark!"

The woman nods and covers her smiling mouth. She points out the benefits of a healthy sex life to a woman in her 40s. And adds, holding an imaginary joint up to her mouth, that just a little bit of "this" goes a long way, too.

I am sitting next to hippies. Hippies dressed in Izod khakis and J.C. Penny Liz Claiborne weekend wear. Who knew it would come to this? Covert hippies whispering about swinging, soft-core electronic porn and marijuana. Can't a gay man escape from the ubiquitous heterosexism? You'd think that a smart little coffee shop would be the perfect hideout. But sadly, this is not the case.

Defeated, I pack up my computer, my David Sedaris book, and head home, where I am safe -- from swinging hippie fossils in their 40s.