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I was in the hellhole of the world today, at the Men’s Shelter on the Bowery. I have never seen such degradation. But the men I saw were mostly insane alcoholics. . .

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Consuelo’s decided to accept a job teaching in Los Angeles for next fall. She loves the Mexican neighborhoods in L.A. and feels comfortable among Chicanos – and she’s tired of New York. (Aren’t we all?)

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Deanna called, telling me how much she misses my brother and how much she wants to marry him. Is that love? Is it neurosis? After I hung up with Deanna, Gary phoned. Betty is putting him through the wringer with their divorce negotiations. Is that what happens when you love someone?

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Avis has just smoked a joint and gotten into bed; I made the couch into a bed by putting on sheets and a blanket and a pillow. It’s been a long time since I’ve slept in the same room as someone. I wonder if I’ll be relaxed enough to sleep.

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Alice told me that she found it hard to adjust to her new apartment and neighborhood and routine, too, and that my adjustment is more difficult because, unlike her, I don’t have a family home to go back to.

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Laurel Rossellini wrote a paper on bikinis, Speedos and orgasms today, so I think she’s flirting with me. She wrote something about “guys with just the right size penis.”

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I joked with him as he worked on me and this other guy. The two of us, shirtless, were strapped to machines which worked us over, and I told Dr. Robbins it seemed like something out of a West Street backroom bar. “You mean like The Ramrod?” he said. “Nah, my S&M stuff is better than theirs.”

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Josh says that Avis is talking about staying in America because of him; he’s trying to convince her to go to Israel as she’d planned. How people can get that close in such a short time is a personal mystery to me.