Fontana brings back so many memories. Latin dancing, swing dancing, unrequited love. The music is nothing to dance to tonight, even if there were someone to dance with. Occasionally this old couple weave their way to the stage, always the same steps, they rocket off onto the dance floor despite, or in-spite of the pace of the music. Vague foxtrot. Their feet are scarcely ever an inch apart, they move as one, without emotion. Sweet and terrifying at the same time.
Sushi before this, yes. Sushi Factory. I was dubious due to the name, typically I�ll only visit establishments with Japanese names. HamaSushi... Osaka.. Narita... Sumo.. Hamada.. Yes, pretentious, I know. Even though the greatest sushi place on the planet thus far is called Blowfish Sushi, in the heart of some old neighborhood in San Francisco. Sushi restaurants that play techno make me hard.
I walk in and notice the logo on the menu, �Sushi Factory: We sell fresh dead fish� and think to myself, we have a winner here. I enjoy fresh dead fish, very much so. Warning bells go off when they ask if we�re interested in the �all you can eat� special. Danger... Danger... All you can eat sushi specials typically don�t bode well. No fear, it�s all made to order, no buffet. Very tasty, slightly small portions, but fresh and yummy. All is well. One major drawback to �all you can eat sushi�. You eat too much, always. Bloated. Disgusting. Terrible.
I leave Geoff behind and wander to Roma, must have fix. I order my mocha (non-fat, no whip, in case anyone is taking notes) and idly watch the live action play on the stage. Quite amusing, tongue in cheek. I approve of amusing things. Polishing off my mocha, I savor the slight grit in my mouth that is always associated with the last swig of a mocha and head off to Icon.
I park near the Double Down Saloon, again memories flash. Me, crying at a table, pathetic. I walk past, moving on. Poor girl, falls down in the street and spills her cocktail, pity. She didn�t get up. I notify the police officer standing there giving someone a jay-walking citation that the girl in the street doesn�t appear to be so happy. His reply? �Fuck�. I move on. Others move to the assistance of the girl in the street, good for them, I say.
I part the strips of fabric that represent the event horizon of the establishment, there is hardly anyone there. A few gay boys chat quietly at the bar, I�m moderately confused. I offer the doorman sitting behind his bar if he�d like to see my ID, he seems unconcerned but figures, since I�m asking, and briefly examines my ID. I walk around the place, a cursory look, granted, and see nothing that would constitute a �goth night�. I ask the doorman and he points me to the appropriate place, in back through an obscure door. Okay.
I walk in the place, things click.. It�s small. Two feline forms writhe on the tiny dance floor. The music? Unrecognizable but not objectionable. I feel completely and utterly out of place, the time? 11:40ish. Not many people here. I take a seat at the small red bar, wondering offhand what the hell I�m doing there, what am I looking for?
I order a ketal one and cranberry. Small plastic cup, horribly under poured... fuck.. wonderful, I can�t even get drunk here, I muse. I decide to fix it. The cocktail costs 5, I give him 10. Second drink, decent pour. I give him 10 again. Third drink... What�s cranberry? Beautiful. The next two cocktails are not only free, but horribly over poured. I got my money�s worth.
I sit and absentmindedly finger my wounds from the previous days mechanic experiences, occasionally wandering to the numb portion of my scarred finger. The music gets better, sounds like Aphex Twin, but I�m sure it�s not. No bother, it�s good.
More people dance... The women, every one of them that got up.. astonishing. Move like serpents, no matter body shape or clothing, simply beautiful to watch. The men who attempt the dance prove an amazing contrast to their feline counterparts, foolish boys, leave and let the women play.
My heart skips a beat, an incorporeal serpent slithers by clad in a black net shirt. Leather pants, vinyl, whatever, who cares. Long black curls fall past her shoulders, she moves like a primal beast. Someone is with her, rudely. Who dares stroll with creatures of our dreams? They wander off to the corner of the dance floor. She moves, one with the music, insane. He comes to the bar to order, strange, he�s got a soft face, boyish. HAHA he�s a skinny �machine� from the 8mm movie, I swear. Looked like a pleasant fellow. Hard jaw, soft eyes, probably smiles a lot.
Her, however. I�m enthralled. Not like most would be, no. They would see the mesh shirt, the hard body and instantly think of sex. No no no! I want to photograph her. I�m aroused, but not sexually. I�m obsessed with watching her. I can�t get a look at her face, desperate to see the face! Not happening, that�s okay. More and more beautiful people are showing up. This strangely reminds me of a normal club, however the make-up is a little more heavy and dark, as well as the clothing. My kind of crowd.
Hmm dark hair, short, disheveled yet nailed that way, perfect make up. Strong jaw, angry face but expressing no anger, beautiful smile. She should smile more. Her guy friend sits down at the only seat at the bar, orders cocktails (beer, actually. Captain was gone, tragic). He sits, she stands, odd sense of chivalry I have, perhaps. I want to offer my seat to her, why is he sitting? My grandmother raised me how she would like a man, I suppose. My mind wanders off and another seat opens which she quickly takes. (chuckle)
I chat a bit with the old bartender, looks like my father in ways. I wouldn�t have minded a picture of him. Nice enough guy, loves what he is doing. I�m envious.
There is this girl chatting with the DJ, very dark �goth� look. So hellishly familiar!!! I know her, I must, a figure from my distant past. First thought, she�s the daughter of my one time babysitter in elementary school. I shrug off the thought. I stroll into the main bar and watch the end of a drag-queen lip syncing performance. Quite amusing! I�ve decided that I approve of lip syncing drag queens.
I go back in and meet Netty(?). Amazing dancer. Amazingly nice, at that. From NYC of places, comments about the scene there and how it differs. Again, envious. She introduces me to Ashley, or shall I say Dame Azriele. Wonderful person, I approve. I�m told about Sacrilege, and through conversation, my musical preferences are mentioned and they both agreed I would enjoy the music at Sacrilege greatly, even if not many people were there. Sound judgement, I�m sure.
Actually, I rather enjoyed the majority of the music at Icon as well. Some songs held no inspiration for me, others immediately caused rhythmic motion. The bass tickled my nose, I like that.
The dancing flame of my tea lights please me. Sleep is calling me.
I have school tomorrow morning, fuck.
"I walk into the bar, immediately, I sense danger" Love for that song. Love for Massive Attack.
-G