Another minor miracle: an entertaining Saturday night out on Folsom Street.
It was not entertaining in the sense of “I met the boy of my dreams and we fucked like whores all night”, although that would indeed have been pleasant. It was just nice that I ran into several friends I hadn’t seen in a very long time, including Barry (whose name you’re not expected to know) and Bringdown (who will remain nameless, faceless, and always enticingly bitter).
And I didn’t get drunk. That was a bonus too, albeit an expected one, and one you may not believe from my bad sentence structure this morning.
The downside was my visit to Hole in the Wall, the bar which used to be my favorite on the entire planet. It has all of a sudden turned into absolutely the creepiest place on earth. It’s like watching the voyage of the damned. There were, I’d estimate, about fifteen people there at 1:00 tonight. I’m guessing that five of them will have OD’ed and arrived at the emergency room by the time I type this. The rest, are no doubt, still sitting there staring into space. The place was just plain scary and it’s been that way every time I’ve stopped in lately. It’s a shame.
On brighter fronts, someone loves me. He’s in Richmond, Virginia. Why does no one in my own time zone ever love me?
I’m going to bed.
