Tuesday, January 11, 2005

You know it is time to go home from the bar when you see the flies buzzing around the toilet as you piss. At the end of a long day in London- breakfast, a visit to the bank machine, an internet Subway cafe, a change of shoes, a long walk past Trafalgar Square, the Eye, and lunch at the Film Center cafeteria (egg mayo tastes exactly like the egg salad I make. Afterwards a bit more cheap sightseeing. Inside St. Margaret's was Henry Layard's memorial- he excavated Nineveh. We didn't pay to go inside Westminster- I really am museumed out. A cute French guy asks for directions.

A nap and then an English meal with Patrick and Nigel. They will be attending a party afterwards, but first we go to the Yard and Bob shows up. We chat about work, American television, my like of redheads. The guys go off and Bob and I migrate to another bar and stand there and it is like a sitcom. Three scenes- the two Americans (Bob & I) chat with J.J., the South African from Capetown. Nearby is a good looking business man making a play for a somewhat weasel-like guy. Across the street, perhaps 30 ft away, fans stand at the backdoor at the Gielgud Theater, waiting for Christian Slater to come out. The cute businessman pops an erection pill while his intended is in the loo. The South African tells is he was selling electricity and gas service in Scotland door-to-door, before which he was a flamenco dancer. He is cute, perfect hair, sexy accent- and working at the moment as a security guard while looking about for a better career. Bob predicts he will be a dancer- I'm guessing a bartender. Christian comes out the back door- brunette and receding hair line- and pauses to sign autographs. The business man and skank leave together- I hope the lock on his briefcase is solid. I wonder if the pill is working. Bob says goodbye and I wish J.J. good luck. Afterwards a depressing time at CXR 79, where guys watch each other piss and become more desperate. No one chats with me, and as I head back to Bradley's flat I stop for a moment inside the bar and tell one beefy guy he is cute, he is taken aback and I wonder if I should have paused a moment, but now as I write this, three aspirins averting a hangover, I'm glad I didn't.

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