Oh, What a Night. Chapter 605.
I am laughing so hard watching the night fall apart. It is a wonder that Punk Barbie’s head does not explode. How do the bartenders put up with this nonsense night after night? I am sitting next to a babbling shemale with B.O.
This is New Orleans.
I have probably just lost a young free subscriber. Call me Archie Bunker. The shemale just asked me for money to go to the men’s room. I need not say more. Let the young people go.
I would rather be talking about midgets.
Punk Barbie and I are hatching a scheme. It could be a lulu, a real money maker, not the kind the kind of money a shemale makes giving blowjobs in dive bar men’s rooms on Lower Decatur Street. I am talking about decent money.
We are all God’s children.
Details to follow as they develop. Great minds think alike.
Punk Barbie and Marais, who I like, though neither she nor I knows what to make of the other, are coming to my back garden on Tuesday afternoon. There will be no orchestral maneuvers in the dark. It will be day.
Walking on Esplanade Avenue in New Orleans is like walking on the Milky Way.
Sometimes, you feel like a nut. Other times, not.
At least, at the very least, holding onto my last scrap of dignity, I can go into the men’s room and look at myself in the mirror. At least I am not at Checkpoint Charlie’s.
I am somewhere that I would rather not name.
I have nothing else to say. There is nothing else to say. Any following sentence will land like a brick in moldy, damp, batture sand.
Welcome to my world.
I am glad Punk Barbie is here. Wherever there is sin, there must I go.
We have been living in King’s world this evening, the best of all possible New Orleanses. I saw Hero, who is often hard for me to follow, even though I enjoy his company in small doses.
And, now, to get to the present….