Ain't Gonna Be the Same Fool Twice by April Sinclair

worst, I could always call a cab.
    â€œThis is an interesting dip.”
    â€œIt’s got cilantro in it,” Traci informed me.
    â€œCilantro, what’s that? I’ve never heard of it.”
    Traci took a hit off of the joint. “It’s an herb. I got it today from Loving Foods, where I work.”
    Traci offered me the joint. I shook my head. “No thanks, I think the wine is enough.”
    Traci looked disappointed. Why was I being such a prude? Wasn’t this trip supposed to be a celebration? Wasn’t it about time for me to kick up my heels a little bit? Maybe so, but I was still too afraid.
    Traci made a pitiful face. “Don’t tell me you’re gonna make me smoke all by my lonesome?”
    I was tempted, but I knew I had to be strong.
    â€œI don’t ever mix wine and weed,” I lied.
    â€œNo problem, I want you to be comfortable.”
    â€œThanks. So far, I am.”
    Traci looked at me like she wasn’t sure how to take that.
    â€œSo, what do you do at Loving Foods?” I asked after sipping my wine. “Are you a manager?”
    â€œWe’re all managers, baggers, checkers, everything. It’s a collective.”
    â€œA collective? That’s interesting,” I said, sucking the tangy sauce off of a corn chip.
    â€œYep, there are no bosses at Loving Foods. We’re all workers.”
    â€œRight on!”
    â€œSo tell me about yourself. I know you just graduated from college. What was your major?”
    â€œJournalism. I was on the school newspaper. In fact I just got offered a job on a paper in Monmouth, Illinois. My practical side says I better take it. But after four years in the Heartland, I’m ready to cut loose.”
    â€œWell, San Francisco is the perfect place for that.” Traci smiled, revealing a cute dimple underneath her chin.
    â€œI don’t doubt it. Our tour bus went down Broadway in North Beach. I couldn’t believe it. Talk about a red-light district!
    â€œI was thinking more of the Castro.”
    â€œI don’t believe we went there.”
    â€œYou can’t go back to Chicago without seeing the Castro. The Castro is becoming the gay capital of the world. It’s like a Moslem not going to Mecca.” Traci laughed.
    I shuddered a little when Traci insinuated that I was gay. I couldn’t think of anything to say that wouldn’t make me sound defensive or even possibly offensive. So I just sipped some more wine and said, “Maybe I’ll be able to work it in.”
    Traci sucked on the joint. “So, what kind of stuff did you write about on the school newspaper? Political shit?”
    I shook my head. “Mostly features. I did an article on streakers last year.”
    â€œWhat did you say in the story?”
    â€œWhy they did it. You know, how people reacted to them. What their mothers would say, etc. I actually interviewed a black streaker.”
    Traci really seemed interested in getting to know me. It was refreshing not to have a man trying to get into my pants for a change.
    Traci nibbled on a corn chip. “I suppose a black man running buck naked through the cornfields might qualify as a political statement.”
    â€œA couple of the brothas saw him. Everybody was talking about it at the ‘black table’ at dinner for days. We couldn’t believe it, a black streaker!”
    â€œThey probably would’ve arrested his behind or worse if he’d done it in town instead of on campus,” I continued. “The funny thing about it was the brothas who saw the dude said he was short on equipment, was a disgrace to black men everywhere.” I laughed, clapping my hands. I could tell I was feeling the effects of the wine.
    â€œI hope I’m not disturbing anybody,” I said, covering my mouth.
    â€œYou’re not,” Traci assured me. “Jawea is at her lover’s down in Santa Cruz, and Kate is in India studying to be a yoga