Chapter 3

IT WAS THE following summer and,for good or bad,I had had no recurrences of visits from my dream lover.I had not quite forgotten him,conjuring him up in my most lonely moments and his attentiveness—and savageness—had provided many happy releases.But the man of my conscious fantasies never had the erotic pull of the truly rapid-eye-movement literal dreamboat.That man was as real as anyone I worked with at my job as a loan officer at First Chicago or the guys I ran across at the bars on Halsted Street.He had his own mind and his own being…he may have been in my dreams but I swear to you he was not of me.You know what I mean?

I live not far from Lake Michigan and on warm summer nights like this I like nothing better than to wander down Lawrence Avenue to the lakefront.I stroll through the park that borders the lake,checking out the rollerbladers,bicyclists,and runners.