The weather is below freezing, has been for days now. I am really enjoying it. I live in the Twin Cities. I live in Montreal. I live in some frigid, cold city and I am loving it. You just have to dress properly. Lots of layers. It's such a beautiful city that we live in. I am in love with New York right now.
I went out to a fun basement club on Friday night. It was smokey, a small hidden room where the dance floor was. A lot of people seemed to be on drugs. There were a lot of sexy men everywhere, guys I have never seen, people pressed against each other, people actually cruising and approaching guys to hit on them in a way I haven't seen in a while. It was beautiful, Everyone seemed to be living, having fun. This was the New York I fell in love with, that I am still in love with, that still on some nights will keep me out at a bar til past closing time, til four something collecting my coat, talking to other people, no one wanting the night to end.
I rode in a taxi back home to this guy's house, this incredibly sexy guy that I have been flirting with via the Internet and via this thing called "real life" for a few months. I had been to his building before, know the people that live directly above him. Small world as they say. We fucked and fucked, did poppers, smoked cigarettes. I kept on pausing to admire his body, sexy object that I had been admiring images of on various social networks, now seeing in the flesh. Just as beautiful, more so.
Around six in the morning, some of his friends were going to come over, everyone still going, to head to some other party. This was the moment when I took my leave. I don't have the same party stamina to go well into the next day. I walked home, the sun still not up, hints of it somewhere behind Bushwick row houses, otherwise the sky very dark still, streets empty except for a couple of drunk people in front of bodegas.
I bought some nice boots yesterday once I woke up. I saw the guy on 96th Street in the afternoon. I saw the superhero fetish guy at night. I drank a vodka-tonic afterwards and argued for Louis C.K's place within the Jewish comedic tradition despite his not being Jewish. I was tipsy already, fevered talk coming easily, hands gesticulating. I went to a house party in the East Village. There were cute men there, the city full of them these days. Maybe people seem sexier in the cold. Everyone's sex drive is still having lingering effects of the frenzy the Beyonce album brought them to. We are all incredibly hungry.
I ate some hot dogs on my way to the L Train. That is a metaphor for nothing. I had some hot dogs, mustard and ketchup on them, two for three dollars.
No comments:
Post a Comment