To see a Beatle

Yesterday, while I was in the gym, a young man who I had said hello to in the carpark, comes up to the workout equipment I'm using and says to me- Are you going to that parade today? You know, the big parade?
Because I was on that machine that you kneel on and hoist yourself up and down on by your arms to work your upper body, I had to look down at him to answer.
'What parade do you mean?' I say to him.
'You know,' he says, 'the gay one.'
'Uh, no, I don't think so,' I say, wondering why out of all the people in the gym he is asking me.
'Oh,' he says, 'I went last year but I don't know if I am going to go,'
'Anyway,' he says, 'my name is Fernando,'
'Oh,' I say, stopping my workout so I can pay him full attention.
I tell him my name and then I say- 'I haven't lived here very long and...uh,'
'Yeh,' he says, 'where are you from?'
'Australia,' I say, 'but I was living in England for a long time,'
'Oh,' he says, 'do you know Robert Smith?'
I tell him no, that I don't know Robert Smith, while I'm thinking England is a big fucking place, with lots of Smiths.
'I really like the Cure,' he tells me.
'Oh,' I say, 'THAT Robert Smith. Nice,'
'I saw them play once,' he tells me, 'and I'm going to see Paul McCartney at the stadium,'
'Nice,' I say.
'Yeh,' he says, 'I just wanna go because I've never seen a Beatle,'


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