LOOKinG oUT
at a cold cold Brooklyn.
It's after midnight on Friday last, when New York was gripped by the most intensely frigid temps we'd felt in a while. There were barely any cars, and the people I saw through the huge glass window were practically skipping to stay warm. Pan back inside. There's the DJ, cute, intense, afro'd black chick. She is playing 70s soul, which is why I'm standing here. On the floor: THE celebrity go-go girl of the lesbian community, her tight, tight body clad in gold hot pants, gold bikini and tall gold boots. She is dancing with a female to male transexual with an Elvis vibe. There is one other couple, Hispanic girls, on the floor of the rectangular space. There are other people in the room, but they're hanging back. We're all just watching the go-go tear it up. Then the DJ throws on a classic Stevie cut: All I do. And all of a sudden I am struck to the heart at the loneliness of it all- this late, late nite scene, the bleak industrial surroundings, the furtive prowling of the lesbians in this exposed brick cage, the sad monotony of every Friday, same characters. Cut to the DJ again. Her hands are moving... it's like she's using this sign language, a deft manual interpretation of the song, of the pathos and glory of love. Stevie, handicapped by sight, but still reaching. Us, handicapped by this most inconvenient, yet inescapable yearning, and reaching too.
It's after midnight on Friday last, when New York was gripped by the most intensely frigid temps we'd felt in a while. There were barely any cars, and the people I saw through the huge glass window were practically skipping to stay warm. Pan back inside. There's the DJ, cute, intense, afro'd black chick. She is playing 70s soul, which is why I'm standing here. On the floor: THE celebrity go-go girl of the lesbian community, her tight, tight body clad in gold hot pants, gold bikini and tall gold boots. She is dancing with a female to male transexual with an Elvis vibe. There is one other couple, Hispanic girls, on the floor of the rectangular space. There are other people in the room, but they're hanging back. We're all just watching the go-go tear it up. Then the DJ throws on a classic Stevie cut: All I do. And all of a sudden I am struck to the heart at the loneliness of it all- this late, late nite scene, the bleak industrial surroundings, the furtive prowling of the lesbians in this exposed brick cage, the sad monotony of every Friday, same characters. Cut to the DJ again. Her hands are moving... it's like she's using this sign language, a deft manual interpretation of the song, of the pathos and glory of love. Stevie, handicapped by sight, but still reaching. Us, handicapped by this most inconvenient, yet inescapable yearning, and reaching too.
posted by euphoria at 8:52 AM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home