Includes the following:
I hung out with a good friend in Alphabet City yesterday. We ended up at the Life Cafe, on the northern end of Tompkins Square Park, eating vegetarian chilli and talking about how much love fucking hurts. It's a strange exhilirating experience to talk with someone for hours and hear your soul reverberate in theirs. We're different people and we do have different opinions about certain things but we somehow are always on the same mental plane.
Went to
Duvet with a current roommate and her girls. As usual, I arrived half an hour after the club stopped admitting people for free. I had to wait in line for an hour and when I got to the front the big man in charge, a cat named Alex, turned up his nose at me and turned his back.
Alex, a six foot five, 35 year-old black man - and a queen - posing in A/X and Prada, a fedora, pulled low, and tinted shades. Did I mention the pointy-toed crocodile shoes?
Very snooty, very self-important, very rude. The club was pretty but the full of Gotti boys, rolling ten deep. The music was shitty as hell. I've been to less trendy clubs and had a better time. Thus - I left after an hour and forty-five minutes and walked home in the snow.
