DON'T TAKE YOUR LOVE TO TOWN
OK, you with me so far? Little brother- Shorty is now pissing me off to the point I want to slam him into the wall. But I have no idea how I will accomplish this. We are at my parents house in CT. It's xmas 2005.
Friendly, the guitar player and i are heading back into Mahattan on the Palisades after I was busted for Pot and LSD. Yummy, later to become Mrs. Yummy, is waiting in our apartment on 7&C, pissed because I'm with Friendly and the guitar play AND I'm late. It's summer of '93.
I've just pulled my British racing green sportscar over to the curb in front of Enricos, after Honey called the cops at on Berkeley apartment on Woolsey St. and I was advised to leave by the law.I have a little amber bottle of cocaine in my pocket. It's still the 70's.
I just scored some pot, raked up the yard, got grocerys and sat down at the computer. My Timex says 2:14 pm on a Friday in January. Actually I can't figure out how to set the date. It says it's a Thurs. in June. It's today in either case. Lets go back to Enrico's.
I turned the key off in the MG and got out. I looked up and admired the sign above Enrico's. It was flashing pink: Finochios. The club was an old school tranvestite show. I'd never been but WW II sailors will tell you about it like it was the asshole of Hell way back when. By the Seventies it was Mom, Dad and the kids family fun in Frisco. I found a seat at Enrico's bar and started drinking. I wasn't that upset over the whole Berkeley mess. It was numbing me, not tweaking me. The whiskey helped. A girl slid onto the stool. She asked for a light, smiled and touched my hand lightly, steadying the match when I lit her. That little touch. It said volumes.
I hadn't even the time to order her a drink before we were both coming on easy and smooth with each other. Two drinks later we were old friends.
She was Phillipino, small features and soft light brown skin. We both got drunk. I don't know why it didn't click when she told me she was a dancer. I'm thinking ballet or one of those Twyla Tharpe hot girls in tights and skimpy top. Then the subject changed and before we knew it it was 2am and the liquor stopped flowing. I told her i had a bottle back at my studio in the Mission and off we went. I grabbed the bottle and we went back to her place. I said something about her tiny ears and she said "I understand.' I thought that was a strange response, but didn't dwell on it. She fixed some drinks and we got cozy. Up until this very moment I thought only faithful, monogamous thoughts in regard to Honey. Like that fucking rabbit, I forgave her for her shit. It was her nature, I reasoned.
But, this evening was a watershed (literally). The cops. The cold bath. It was bad. And this girl seemed so chill and cool and sexy..... Then, in a break in the Roxy Music album. I think it was between Love is a drug and End of the Line- on Siren, I said something to her and this time i heard "I'm a man." This time I paid attention. She (no I mean he) was trying to tell me the whole time. Understand? He was a Finochio dancer- a pre-op transexual. Look at those ears! How can they belong to a man? To say I was disappointed would be an understatement. It was kind of embarassing for both of us. What the hell. As they say I was flattered, if not a little curious. Excuse me. Could you close those tent flaps?
Friendly, the guitar player and i are heading back into Mahattan on the Palisades after I was busted for Pot and LSD. Yummy, later to become Mrs. Yummy, is waiting in our apartment on 7&C, pissed because I'm with Friendly and the guitar play AND I'm late. It's summer of '93.
I've just pulled my British racing green sportscar over to the curb in front of Enricos, after Honey called the cops at on Berkeley apartment on Woolsey St. and I was advised to leave by the law.I have a little amber bottle of cocaine in my pocket. It's still the 70's.
I just scored some pot, raked up the yard, got grocerys and sat down at the computer. My Timex says 2:14 pm on a Friday in January. Actually I can't figure out how to set the date. It says it's a Thurs. in June. It's today in either case. Lets go back to Enrico's.
I turned the key off in the MG and got out. I looked up and admired the sign above Enrico's. It was flashing pink: Finochios. The club was an old school tranvestite show. I'd never been but WW II sailors will tell you about it like it was the asshole of Hell way back when. By the Seventies it was Mom, Dad and the kids family fun in Frisco. I found a seat at Enrico's bar and started drinking. I wasn't that upset over the whole Berkeley mess. It was numbing me, not tweaking me. The whiskey helped. A girl slid onto the stool. She asked for a light, smiled and touched my hand lightly, steadying the match when I lit her. That little touch. It said volumes.
I hadn't even the time to order her a drink before we were both coming on easy and smooth with each other. Two drinks later we were old friends.
She was Phillipino, small features and soft light brown skin. We both got drunk. I don't know why it didn't click when she told me she was a dancer. I'm thinking ballet or one of those Twyla Tharpe hot girls in tights and skimpy top. Then the subject changed and before we knew it it was 2am and the liquor stopped flowing. I told her i had a bottle back at my studio in the Mission and off we went. I grabbed the bottle and we went back to her place. I said something about her tiny ears and she said "I understand.' I thought that was a strange response, but didn't dwell on it. She fixed some drinks and we got cozy. Up until this very moment I thought only faithful, monogamous thoughts in regard to Honey. Like that fucking rabbit, I forgave her for her shit. It was her nature, I reasoned.
But, this evening was a watershed (literally). The cops. The cold bath. It was bad. And this girl seemed so chill and cool and sexy..... Then, in a break in the Roxy Music album. I think it was between Love is a drug and End of the Line- on Siren, I said something to her and this time i heard "I'm a man." This time I paid attention. She (no I mean he) was trying to tell me the whole time. Understand? He was a Finochio dancer- a pre-op transexual. Look at those ears! How can they belong to a man? To say I was disappointed would be an understatement. It was kind of embarassing for both of us. What the hell. As they say I was flattered, if not a little curious. Excuse me. Could you close those tent flaps?
posted by mike osterhout at 2:53 PM
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