On his side of the duplex, the living room is the most finished room. The walls, ceiling and floor are painted; the rudimentary furniture has been moved into place. Finishing touches are all that is needed.

On a recent day, he struggles with six cardboard boxes that had been stored in a closet under the stairs, and discovers books -- read, unread and quite possibly never will be read; and magazines (The story of his life).

Three teak bookcases -- $20 each. Trading Post Ad. -- are quickly filled.

Next comes the stereo, from a time when turntables were not quite extinct. Even carefully detailed, it belies its age: It is limited to playing one CD at a time, its songs in linear order. Out, too, come the piles of CDs and a few well-worn LPs that reflect the sudden shift in music of the late 70s: B-52s, Ultravox, The Dumbwaiters, Sham69. A beloved core that remain while a greater collection has been shed over twenty years of moving.

Once the stereo is installed, he chooses to play the first album in chronological order -- from 1978, from high school. The speakers pick up his finger rasping the needle and he sets it to that record's hit.

Today's project waits patiently: A wrought-iron "colonial" lamp dating from the 50s -- $5. Yardsale. It needs rewiring, and the tools, as carefully-placed as any surgeon's, line beside it on the floor.

Time. On. My. Side.
I got it all...
I've heard that pride
Always comes... before a fall...

A year ago, he wanted a boyfriend. He went to parties and flirted. Turned off by people who were aggressively extroverted, he was often described in similar terms. He worked out and thought that might be all it would take.

There's a rumour goin round the town
That you don't want me around
I can't shake off my city blues
Every way I turn I lose

The old socket, from the looks of it, was the source of the failure; it left carbon-like flashes on the inside of the cardboard insulator. He unscrews the wires and the socket from its fitting and discards them to the side. He stretches plastic packages to release new parts. He takes wirecutters and crimps the ends of the chord, unsheathing bright copper.

Love is like oxygen
You get too much, you get too high
Not enough and you're gonna die
Love gets you high

Someone -- a friend -- told him recently that he "gave the appearance" of being open: "You come off as friendly; and you're certainly very funny," that friend had said. "But you're actually stand-offish and closed. Even cold." The words had startled him; but not because it wasn't true, but because someone had revealed it.

Time is no healer
If you're not there
Lone. Lee. Fee. Ver.
Sad words in the air

At first, the part for the new socket doesn't fit into the old base; then he discovers the metal can bend to accomodate. After the new part is screwed in, he bends the old pieces back. He threads the chord through and attaches it to the two fields of the socket.

Some things are better left unsaid
I'm gonna spend my days in bed
I'll walk the streets at night
To be hidden by the city lights, city lights

He has not felt so open to meeting new people lately; not pretending to flirt or pretending to be interested. Instead, he keeps his eyes steady and his mouth frozen; he makes sure of it. Recently, he watched a late night program on television -- one of those Positive Living gurus. The guru wore a designer suit and carried a mike while pacing the stage, empty but for three large and assymmetrically-placed japanese lanterns. "The second step of regaining a soul-full life..." the camera glimpsed a wide-eyed conference, "is intention."

Love is like oxygen
You get too much, you get too high
Not enough and you're gonna die
Love gets you high

Tightening the switch, the screwdriver slips and jabs him in the palm. The plug is easier. A fake candle base slides over the socket. A new shade fits over the bulb. He finds the plug in the floor between the television and the fireplace. With a quarter click of the switch, the bulb shines.

Success!