So Sunday what happened? late breakfast (lets call it lunch shall we?) at the Waverley Diner. Left the place as always feeling stuffed to the brim with eggs and homefried potatoes, toast, coffee, OJ, more toast, grape jelly, more coffee, pancakes, maple syrup, more toast and more grape jelly. At that point the theory of travelling far kind of went out the window and so a brief stroll past and a browse through some very expensive shoe shops and a very cheap thrift store led the way to Washington Square and it’s squirrel floorshow. Todays episode featured young busy squirrel, we’ll call him Dave, scurrying around, finding nuts and then energetically burying them right in front of me before scurrying off to find more. As soon as the coast was clear, wily, old squirrel with cataracts and grey whiskers, he can be George, would totter up furtively, check that the coast was clear and dig up Dave’s stash and run off with them to his own burying place. This went on for about an hour before Dave twigged and was last seen chasing George in circles round the park. Ah, New York so much to see.
Monday was a little grey followed by technicolour. After a spot of dinner chez nous, we wandered off for “just a couple” of drinks at around 10:30 and utilising my favourite random and pig headed guidance system for finding good bars, I accidentally led us to a place called the Cubby Hole just around the corner from our pad. It was an instant hit with the boys as they poured us indecently large measures of Jim Beam and Vodka respectively (not in the same glass, that’d hurt). A Lou Reed soundtrack and a group of fairly hip looking locals made us feel very sophisticated like Sonia Jackson in a Harvester. Now this “don’t smoke” thing I always bang on about (trying to give up today) actually works out well sometimes because you get shunted outside of places when you want a fag and so does everyone else giving everyone there a common bond of a thing to talk about. It’s probably similar in Falluja. So any road at some point after a couple of drinks, the strength of which would have knocked lesser men down, we ended up talking to a lady. One of those that tends to prefer the company of other ladies if you get my drift, what do you want pictures? Oh alright then.
So anyway, she decided that we had to go to another bar so after another couple of really quite fortifying drinks, we wandered in a bit of a zig zag fashion off to Christopher Street, (home of the Gay Porn and Glen Miller shop as you’ll remember if you’re paying attention.) There we were introduced to Chi Chi’s, a bar for the Afro-American man who likes other Afro-American men. Obviously since I’m black and gay, I felt right at home. Errrr oh actually… Nah, it was a reet nice place with really friendly people who made one feel very welcome (no sniggering at the back you lot). The evening continued with light hearted conversation and jollity (actually everyone especially me talked a load of Jackson’s and I’m not talking Michael) only bought to a halt by the bar suddenly beginning to rotate alarmingly at a time of the morning which was way past bed time, in fact closer to getting up time.
Tuesday was postponed until Wednesday.
Wednesday is looking dicey.