’ There was a portable camp table to go with the camp chairs and soon breakfast appeared. Fruit, juice, bagels, sliced ham, cream cheese, black brea.... ‘Is Brooklyn breakfast. Ok?’ ‘Yes. Very ok.’ I gazed at my companions, whom I had known since yesterday afternoon. Curly hair, strong Slavic features. Ample bosums. Hips that could have been well padded, but weren’t. Muscled thighs and legs. All three of us were naked, which would have been strange, except that we were at Burning Man, where many. Yeah a lot of it was the way I looked but it wasn't all that because the sweat suit covered the boob job almost totally. Well some of the old men seemed to stare as if they knew, so I smiled at them as I walked by.So the point is when I have to eat alone in a real family restaurant I feel so out of place. Not only that I tend to get depressed easily on those night. I only did it because I needed really good beef for a change. God only knew where the meat came from, even in those days. Probably. More

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