11.40 pm. I close the front door and shut off the world, climb up to my room and here I am, survivor of yet another attack of bad luck. Tonight was the scene of another low in my already subterranean track regard with strangers. I am sure some scientist of the extreme will find it some day and hail it as the missing link in the evolution of protozoa into amoeba. Or something charming like that. Location: Village bar, Soho (very gay bar in a very gay part of town) Time: 9pm, Friday night in the lull between the ebb and the flow of two waves of customers. Characters: Two men in their early thirties, meeting for the first time, although they have been in contact electronically for about a year. The meeting was a last minute arrangement made earlier in the day. Duration: 75min approx. Surpringly we managed to find a seat (near the open Fench window on the street) and I was instructed to go and sit while (let's call him) PSJ went to the bar to order drinks. He came back with 3 class...
life, with a pink seasoning; an LGBT perspective.