From Thursday to Sunday, Mickey gave late night yoga classes. In New York, the 9-to-5 rhythm was outdated as the Charleston: they still kept at it in some select venues, but most people had moved on to more intense rhythms. Mickey's early morning classes and his early evening classes were always at full capacity. If he kept this up, maybe he would have to start looking for a space, maybe even someone to help him out...
He turned left on Bleeker, diving into the quieter street that housed the Circle and, further down, them. As he passed the imposing building where Ashton and Barclay had made their nest, he saw two people exit from the door that led upstairs. One kid was blond and looked strikingly, well, fuckable, the other one was a nerd Mickey had met before. Whenever Mickey talked to him, the boy would stammer and blush. Mickey waved at him. "Hi, Abernathy!"
The boy lit up like Rudolph's nose. Mickey passed them, grinning a private grin.
He walked on, repositioning his bag and the yoga mat he was holding under his arm. He turned his head a few houses later and caught Abernathy looking back at him.