last night i was meeting pals for a nightcap in the nabe a little after midnight. got there early and sat alone at the bar, which i don’t mind at all when the place is quiet and the vibe is chill, as it was.
a rock starrish looking gent, also alone, regaled with a pete doherty haircut and fedora, smokes and very intense visage started chatting me up.
the music was loud, though, and he was 2 seats away and had a british accent so i couldn’t really understand him. i got the impression he was the owner or some other kind of VIP. hell he might have been a real rock star for all i know.
i was confused as to whether he was just talking to me because he was bored … or if he was interested in me as a person, or a chick. he had that ethereal artist quality of ambiguous sexuality. i am a magnet for those types … sometimes i wonder if maybe i’m one too (birds of a feather?). anyways he said i looked sad and asked me what was wrong.
nothing, i said.
“fuck you, what is it?” he persisted. i divulged a bit, and in rock star form he ended up giving me a hug and inviting me to go to do some coke. i said thank you but i couldn’t leave — i was meeting friends.
he told the bartender to take really good care of me for the rest of the night, gave me another very serious hug and said, “shit – you made me cry.” then he left.
for the rest of the night i sipped a free bottomless glass of rose champagne that usually goes for $19 a pop.