Still alive, but feeling Bilbo-thin, like not enough butter spread over too much toast! Comes from having slept too little, gone out too much, and having perhaps too much fun..? Perhaps. Here some quick vignettes:
Last night, sitting in a bar, waiting for my friend to return. It’s about 2am, and the bar is tiny, all rose colored wood and christmas lights around the bay window, only a handful of patrons talking into their drinks. An ambulance drove by at full tilt, lights flashing, but in complete silence. An old man stumbled in and approached the bar warily. The bar tending, a tall, strapping young man with chiseled looks and a toothpick in the corner of his mouth shook his head. “I told you I didn’t want to see you come back,” he said, not unkindly. The old man shook his head, and launched into a rambling, soft toned story about how he wasn’t there for a drink, but to report on a fight he had broken up between a couple. He was earnest, and sad, and only slowed down and stopped when the bartender placed a glass of water before him.
Leaving the 80’s bar/club Pyramid on Friday night, emerging from the dark chthonic depths where the coat room was ensconced, I saw that we were the last but one people to leave. The music was still shuddering, the lights strobing and flashing in the large, empty dark room behind us, and one man yet danced. He was in the far left corner, alone, large and ungainly, working through a series of robot moves with a studied intensity. It was as if he was a rock, the rest of the crowd a tide, which had receded and left him where he had always been, a fixture, his broad back lit in alternating reds and blues, staring blankly at the wall as he danced on alone and oblivious.
Oh–we’re heading out to brunch. No time for more. Hope you guys are having a great weekend!