July 10th, 1967

Start my job at Pacific-Union Club as luncheon waiter. Blueblood club at Mason & California. Take the cable car up Powell Street to work. Carved wood ceiling, heavy silverware, very formal. I wear tails & keep quiet. After lunch, they play dominoes downstairs for the rest of the day, dressed in Brooks Brothers suits, making inane comments on the game.

Come home & start writing for 3 hours.

Keith & I work well together. He writes at the round table in the dining room with the sliding doors closed. I work at the long table against the wall in the living room. Portrait of Papa Hemingway above it.

Tom’s Chesterfield couch sits in the bay window overlooking the backyard. Sometimes we sit there with coffee & talk about our work when we’re finished.

Keith’s from Kansas City. Wrote his first novel recovering from mono during senior year.

Keith has long straight blond hair, falls over his eyes all the time so he has to sweep it back. Sharp features.

Good storyteller. He knows it though & uses all the dramatic techniques of storytelling. Pauses a great deal when he knows he has your attention & will test it. I notice when I don't pay attention, he loses the pause & speeds up to regain my attention. He does have a great ability to reproduce a scene verbally. He is patient, gives you detail by detail, shifts his voice to fit the mood, has several different voices to call on to fit the mood or the other speaker, uses hand gestures to convey the emotion, reproduces his own facial impressions & usually the other person's.

Eat & go to Haight Street.

She's in Garuda Café. Cock all sore from 10 days of dry humping. Should go home & let it heal. Instead we walk down Haight Street together. Another night of non-lovemaking.

In the morning, she fixes pancakes. I go to work. She goes to yoga.

Johnson & Kosygin meet at U.N. French explode nuclear device in South Pacific.

James Meredith finishes “March Against Fear.” 8 shot in Buffalo race riot.

Jayne Mansfield decapitated.

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