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I didn't pay much attention to names. Saint Mark's Basilica or Square by other names an impressive sight - whatever. What I remember is the hundreds of outdoor cafe chairs, people with boots sweeping the water out of shops. Great flocks of pigeons in water-side sky everywhere; and you could only go there at low tide, and everything still wet from the last high-swells flood. Lots of tourists even in this off-season, and locals feeding pigeons, some showing off and getting completely covered in pesky winged vestment. Poof, the sound of the entire flock of pigeons breaking wind in unisoned flap-clap.
Someone said and not necessarily to me, there is Allen Ginsberg they pointing. It was a bearded guy with glasses, sitting on the steps of a minor monument, which seemed a hangout by the number of people, perhaps a dozen. He may have had an entourage; hard to tell. He gave me the eye. Not thinking gay at that time, even if recognizing the look, the great Allen Ginsberg could not be gay. Maybe if I had read "Howl", I would have known, or maybe not. No it was a look of fame, the famous guy giving me a look, why me ? Course it tracked through my mind. Meet him then what ? But not me. I couldn't talk to guys like him. The first problem, I was shy. The second - I wasn't too keen on his work, so what do I say ? I don't love your work ! But mostly I felt unqualified. They were something. I was nothing. I overestimated him. If he talked to me first, I could get with it. Unknown - I could make of him what I wanted. I could then emulate the what I wanted if he tried to pick me up ?
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