I miss him. I’m alone in a strange, gay city. There are different towns named after different countries. Being in San Francisco is like being in a big, scary Epcot Center. It’s got me spooked. Where’s my travel buddy. Where the shit is he.
I contact my lone contact in LA: my brother. He says Mike was spotted doing drag along Santa Monica Blvd during the wee hours. Evidently, he survived the night at The Viper Room. I hope someone was at his side when he got his stomach pumped. But I’ll never know. I’ll never know cuz I’m stuck in this wacked out, adult version of Epcot Center. (Isn’t Epcot Center the adult version of Disney World? Hmm…)
There is no humor here. Hunter Thompson said it best about San Fran, something like, “When you look out over the bay, you see big scary monsters.” That’s it. That’s it in a nutshell.
Guess I’ll pitch my tent in the parking lot of Candlestick Park alone tonight. Might ask my neighbors in the RV if they’ll help--though I could have sworn they were cooking the squirrel that was roaming around the bathhouse early this morning—not that speaks to their ability, or inability, to pitch a tent—just saying.
Where are you Mike? Did I not allow you to express yourself? I hope the Sunset Strip—ah screw it.
-- JEFF
p.s. if you’ve seen Mike roaming the streets of LA in drag,, please contact this number:
1-800-HELP-DRAGQUEENS.ORG
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