totallygone

travel, at a tangent


Crawling Back to Happiness....

So, Saturday night I was supposed to move, and didn't because my ride went AWOL. So instead, I went on a Castro pub-crawl with my friend David, a SF veteran who, twenty-odd years ago, bust his way out of his Fort Lauderdale closet, threw its contents in the back of a Ford Thunderbird, waved goodbye to the crowd of family and friends who'd gathered to see him off, and hit the gas hard until he was safely across the Bay Bridge. He was in similar mettle on Saturday, having promised to escort me to every bar (around fifteen of them) in the neighborhood until we fell over.

I think we made it to about five of them. Gay bars in San Francisco (this I didn't know) are famous for serving supersized drinks, and a G&T here contains enough alcohol to give you instant liver damage. So by the end of the evening, in Detour (named, I've been told, after the noir movie), one of the trashier dives in town, I took what, in Glasgow, is colloquially called a "whitie" (note the "ie" rather than "ey." As in "bridie.")


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