It’s 29 degrees but sunny and looks like spring.
On Friday I’m going to San Francisco–unless we get a bad nor’easter–which is currently forecasted.
I go to California often but was in San Francisco once with my sister.
Sometime in the 1980’s, my friends Lucia and Helena wanted to go to The Limelight on Christmas Eve. The Limelight’s a club in an old Catholic Church, and I felt strange. I wouldn’t go into in an old converted Shul to dance on Passover–even though it’s a holiday where you’re actually allowed to do things. It would just feel strange. But Lucia and Helena are Catholic and assured me that you can do these things.
They came over around 12:30. We indulged in some pre club enhancements, found a taxi and went. I still felt strange, though there was a long line. I felt as if were committing some sin against humanity.
I never thought of myself as a club type person but I seemed to know many club owners, managers, doormen, and bouncers.
We didn’t have to wait on line and a group of French people stopped us and offered us some coke. I said no, and went up to the balcony, and began dancing by myself. Soon I wasn’t. Lucia came up, and said that the really cute Frenchman wanted to meet me. Told her to send him up.
He came up. We danced.
The next night we met for dinner. Dinner turned into a night; the night turned into…
Lucia was going to visit her brother in Manhattan Beach for New Years; the French people were going to LA. I hooked them back up.
Two weeks later, they met me at the San Francisco airport. We went for dinner in Chinatown, and then drove to Sonoma
This is a bare outline from a series of stories I’m writing: working title–met him at a club