We went out for dinner, Sebastian, Shane, D, Liz and I. It was Sebastian's birthday. I was promised the best food in town and I think I got it. A chef friend of Sebastian’s, degustation was the menu. South Bank. We had wine with every course, we drank a shit load, everyone was maggoted by the, six hundred and fifty dollars later, end.
It was a trip crossing the Yarra pedestrian bridge at 3am in the morning, with three drunken queens, who insisted on walking arm in arm, even if Shane did get a hot Irish boy to say his name three times, in his sexy accent. The water sparkled under the lights a gentle wind blew up the river. The sky was black and shiny over head, dotted with stars.
The Flinders Street underpass was full of drunk straight boys pissing up against the yellow tiled walls. Of course, Shane and Sebastian propositioned every one of them. There were lots of out-of-it faces, people stepping over other people, struggling through. Dragging on joints with screwed up faces, eyes rolling, looking giddy, staggering, smiling.
Then we were on the corner of Elizabeth and Flinders, bright lights, cameras, action. Suddenly, out into the open with people and cars and noise and movement. Catch a taxi, walk? There were girls and boys everywhere with the drunk gay boys hitting on anyone who looked in their direction. I can't believe we made it out.
(2023 - perhaps I should be less precious)
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