Why did I get a bag of Flautas at 1:00 in the morning?
It all started at the 16th and Mission BART station, a lovely square heavily populated with homeless people. It was abot 9:00 pm. Lots of people were hanging outside the station. Most of the stores were either closed or they sold liqour. Honestly, I was a bit frightened because...well, the only other people there were homeless and looked vaguely dangerous. But I pretended not to be, only because people who are cool are not frightened by "shady" neighborhoods. In fact, cool people are perfectly at home in shady neighborhoods and constantly insist that the danger is overexaggerated.
Laura came and met me on 16th and Valencia (about a block away), and after happy greetings and hugs, we headed over to Joe's apartment. We narrowly escaped being mugged by a crazed Australian on the way there, but nothing else of importance happened as we made our way up Valencia. When we got to Joe's apartment, which is on the second floor of a narrow building, he was in the bathroom, so Laura and I walked into the living room where I met his roommate, who was quickly apologized because she had just farted. I explained that I fart all the time (in fact i do, i think i have a parasite or something) and gracefully defused the social tension created by the passing of methane gas out of his his roommates ass (i forget her name). Joe soon emerged from the bathroom and greeted us in a white jump suit that looked like it was out of A Clockwork Orange, setting a surrealistic tone to what would certainly be a surreal night.
"No, I'm not a killer and a rapist," he replied to my question, "I simply do some fencing." Although he later told me it was for fun and not for pay, I was still pretty impressed.
After Joe took a shower, dressed, and showed us a cut he had got on his knee from the fencing, He, Laura, and I hit the streets to get some Mexican food at the lovely "Cancun" restaraunt. Cancun is your basic small taco stand except for the fact that it is run by a giant Dominican proprietress named Lulu. Laura and I got the "super tacos" and Joe got a burrito. After finishing, we discussed what we should do over the ensuing evening. Following some polite chitter chatter, Laura suggested we go get drink somewhere and think about it. Joe and I both heartily agreed.
We chose the Mission over the Castro, perhaps because I subconsciously feared I would get picked up at the Castro and leave my two friends. Or maybe I feared I would get really drunk, take my shirt off, and make a buffoon of myself. That kind of behavior I reserve for a select few. Haha.
Walking down Mission, we bumped into this hot Salvadorean guy in front of the both lovely and classy Esta Noche. All four of us chatted for a while. He told us that Esta Noche was one of the best bars in town. Thusly, we found our bar for the night (or at least the next hour). But we still had to go see a spoken word performance that loosely assembles every Thursday night at the 16th and Mission station. And I still had to get that bag of Flautas. So did we go to the Spoken Word performance? Did I get that bag of Flautas? Tune in tomorrow (or the next day) and find out.
Laura came and met me on 16th and Valencia (about a block away), and after happy greetings and hugs, we headed over to Joe's apartment. We narrowly escaped being mugged by a crazed Australian on the way there, but nothing else of importance happened as we made our way up Valencia. When we got to Joe's apartment, which is on the second floor of a narrow building, he was in the bathroom, so Laura and I walked into the living room where I met his roommate, who was quickly apologized because she had just farted. I explained that I fart all the time (in fact i do, i think i have a parasite or something) and gracefully defused the social tension created by the passing of methane gas out of his his roommates ass (i forget her name). Joe soon emerged from the bathroom and greeted us in a white jump suit that looked like it was out of A Clockwork Orange, setting a surrealistic tone to what would certainly be a surreal night.
"No, I'm not a killer and a rapist," he replied to my question, "I simply do some fencing." Although he later told me it was for fun and not for pay, I was still pretty impressed.
After Joe took a shower, dressed, and showed us a cut he had got on his knee from the fencing, He, Laura, and I hit the streets to get some Mexican food at the lovely "Cancun" restaraunt. Cancun is your basic small taco stand except for the fact that it is run by a giant Dominican proprietress named Lulu. Laura and I got the "super tacos" and Joe got a burrito. After finishing, we discussed what we should do over the ensuing evening. Following some polite chitter chatter, Laura suggested we go get drink somewhere and think about it. Joe and I both heartily agreed.
We chose the Mission over the Castro, perhaps because I subconsciously feared I would get picked up at the Castro and leave my two friends. Or maybe I feared I would get really drunk, take my shirt off, and make a buffoon of myself. That kind of behavior I reserve for a select few. Haha.
Walking down Mission, we bumped into this hot Salvadorean guy in front of the both lovely and classy Esta Noche. All four of us chatted for a while. He told us that Esta Noche was one of the best bars in town. Thusly, we found our bar for the night (or at least the next hour). But we still had to go see a spoken word performance that loosely assembles every Thursday night at the 16th and Mission station. And I still had to get that bag of Flautas. So did we go to the Spoken Word performance? Did I get that bag of Flautas? Tune in tomorrow (or the next day) and find out.
posted by The pleasure seeker at 4:23 PM
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