Hawkins Z. Fuller

He was already lying in bed, staring at the ceiling. Another night of being alone, he hasn't heard from Hawk in days..it started to burn him like a little sore wound under his elbow that wouldn't let him sleep or eat or do anything properly. But that's when he heard the knocking. He never had any visitors so he suspected it could be one of the other real tenants below. Opening the door he saw Hawkins Fuller planted at his doorway. And before Tim could move away or say anything, or recover from the surprise the man already pushed him in and went inside. “Where have you been?” was all it came to his mind. He had a rough day behind him, one during which he felt so far removed from himself that his mind was almost entirely occupied with thoughts of Skippy. It had become a familiar experience for Hawk, thinking about the man in his mid-twenties who occupied his mind in so many ways. But there was no way he could have arrived earlier to express his need to be with him. He saw a h...

    Finally gathering enough names at the wedding he'd been asked to cover for the Star article. He wouldn't be the one writing the article mind you, he may not even have the job until Friday or next week.     This was just a brief stroke of luck, and Tim didn't have anything else to do so he didn't mind.     After buying a half-pint of milk at the drugstore he went to sit amidst the late lunchers and sun-bathers on one of the benches. He could hear the noise across the stretch of verdant grass.     Quickly enough he started inscribing the names from the little pad, that was half sweaty from his own palm, into more neat papers.     His blue jacket lay on the back of the bench to dry out a little.     His mind was more occupied by the future and what would become of him. He'd been here since June inscribing the names from the little pad, that was half sweaty from his own palm, into more neat papers.     His blue jacket...