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Write to Save Your Life

Painter at Easel (1631), Gerrit Dou

Sunday, November 12, 2000

I'm writing this post from Santa Monica Boulevard in West Hollywood, also affectionately known as WeHo, in the cozy confines of a little cafe called the WeHo Lounge. The weather is beautiful and so are the people. Not suprisingly, there are a ton of "model scouts" perambulating the area. I've been warned that "I'm looking for models," is a line 95% of the time.

Jonno was nice enough to humor a call from me last night and as much as I wanted to see Kian while I was out here, an unfortuante turn of events has prevented me from doing so. After a short walk through the city, I returned to find my rental car gone. Who would steal a Ford Taurus in LA? Well, the answer wasn't what I was expecting: my car had, in fact, been towed and slapped with a $40 parking ticket in a permit-only—and highly-obscured, I might add—parking spot. Alas, the better part of my day has been spent tracking down my transportation.

Touring the bars on Santa Monica has proven to be a little disappointing, although I did have a good time. The lights and music are great in all of them. After spending a few hours spent posing with a beer bottle at Rage, I headed over to Mickey's. It was crowded but the vibe was darker, older. After making a round or two, I ordered a drink from the bartender and, while surveying the crowd from the bar, I spotted Patrick dancing on a box in the middle of the dance floor. Whether it was club lighting or not, he looked hot. Then again, I always have a thing for strippers, but we cruised each other, me assuming he was crusing me for a tip, and I passed it off with a smile.

I moved to the dance floor and lost myself in the darkness, closing my eyes and imagining myself somewhere else. I was brought back to LA by a hand on my waist.

"Hey, are you gonna be around for a few minutes?" It was the dancer from earlier. I nodded, and he left towards the back snapping the bottoms of his boxer briefs with his thumbs. He returned fully clothed and I danced my way over to him with my hand extended. We shook and introduced ourselves.

"Would it be to forward if I gave you my phone number?"

Portal

Et Cetera

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