Last Night Turned To Daylight
My old friend Ananda came to visit me last night, and we ripped this town a new asshole for very little money down. (Those of you who know me will realize that there really is no other option for me these days: it’s either dirt cheap, or I’m not interested.)

We decided to battle the wind and rain and walk down to Neighbors, a tried-and-true Seattle tradition. But first, a quick stop at the local grocery store for a bottle of pink wine, which we guzzled like winos in an alleyway that, perhaps unsurprisingly, smelled like pee despite the rain.

The $2 cover charge was just right (bringing the evening’s cost up to about $4 each), although we just barely missed the midnight drag show. No matter: we shook it to pounding ’80s music for a couple hours anyway, although I was so distracted by the people-watching that I almost couldn’t keep my feet moving. Neighbors attracts an interesting crowd, a combination of barely-legal gay boys and goth kids (when did 21 year olds start looking so young?), aging queens gyrating against mirrored columns, and breeders shipped in from both near (Tukwila, Monroe, etc) and far (including those Latin American guys who’s English was limited to “I like how you dance” and “want to dance with me?”). There were also those straight guys that seem Liza Minelli gay until they keep bumping into you and smiling suggestively, making you realize they’re hitting on you.

Regardless, we had an absolutely smashing time. And who knew that the B-52s’ “Love Shack” could be such an anthem?

When we finally decided it was time to go, we grabbed our coats, umbrellas, bags, and sweatshirts and headed back towards the exit. I was in front, following a guy in front of me as we headed turned into the hall that led to the exit….

…which suddenly was filled with sinks and lined with urinals. Oops. Men’s room. Right. Back that ass up and go around the corner, and we were back out into the rain.

As we walked home, I was attempting to gossip about someone Ananda and I went to high school with, but I couldn’t quite remember her last name.

“I can’t remember anyone’s name from high school,” Ananda said. “You’ve always been better at remembering those people.”

“Well, I like to write stories.” I explained.

“And I don’t write fiction. So each person I forget is a character I can’t write about. I have to remember.”

Ooh, speaking of people I’ll never forget, how about that baby goth kid who had his little dance routine down: devil horn, devil horn, blow job, blow job, pump, pump, spank, spank. I think you’d have to see it to believe it.