Of Kissing, Part 2
Ok, so now that you’ve gotten the background, let me say this: the night Andreas and I first met (December 31, 1997 for those of you just joining us), we spent most of the evening retired in a little loft area of the scabby warehouse the rave was in. The warehhouse pretended to be an art studio, and was called “Eye Drop Studios,” and was on Denny & Stewart in Seattle. If you go looking for it now, all you will find are condiminiums. Sad.

Anyway, this little upper loft area had walls painted light blue, with little fluffy clouds (ala the Orbital song) all over them. I’m assuming there were dirty pillows and some mood lighting and burning incense to create the mood–and I’m assuming because I really can’t remember. All I really remember were the walls and Andreas’ mouth (he had–and still has–this little bump on the bottom of his tongue that I was totally facinated with that night).

Well, and I also remember the guy who was sitting right behind us on the floor. You see, it was a small little loft, and Andreas and I just sort of found ourselves a little corner, plopped down, and commensed kissing. It wasn’t really especially romantic (although Andreas did charm me by unabashadly asking “Would it be ok if I kissed you now” before actually doing so), and we were pretty much smooshed up against some random guy sitting alone in the corner. I’m sure he thought we were the biggest mushy-faced losers, just sitting there and sucking face all night, but he was very kind, and every time Andreas and I stopped kissing long enough to refocus our eyes and think “woah–I think I just fell in love!,” the nice man sitting behind us would offer forth a pipe and say “Smoke?”

I took him up on his offer several times (Andreas didn’t, since he doesn’t partake in such things), and then went back to the task at hand, ie kissing my new best friend.

I’ve often thought back on that night, the hazy chemically eve of Andreas’ and my love three and a half years ago, and I’ve wondered where that nice man is. Would he be surprised to learn that those ridiculously sweaty lovebirds with the dialated pupils are still together, long after the effects of the party favors wore off? Would he be happy to know that his generosity is one of the few non-Andreas encounters I had that evening? Should I invite him to the wedding, whenever it happens? Who WAS that man? Where is he now? Has he found his own special friend with which to mash upon in the cloud loft of life? Dear friends, we can only hope so. Nice smoking loft man, where-ever you are, thanks for the toke, brother.