Raw, but c*nsored blabbing and blogging of a young journalista
and local news producer in Southern New England.
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Wednesday, May 18, 2005

Patrick at 27

Sorry if I lured you in and you were expecting to see something sooner. I got distracted today.

Last night my friend Patrick turned 27. He was determined to go out and get sh*tfaced, so Joel and I took him downtown.

At Mirabar we got up to a dash of the usual rough-housing. About 10:30 PM we determined that even though it was a Tuesday night we weren't interested in waiting around for more people to show up. This was after two drinks each.

The brand new 27-year-old was working on the cutest little "single tuft of hair just perfectly out of place" while sucking down Belvedere martinis with a twist (the rind of the lemon, as opposed to the full slice of lemon). I was boring, starting with Bacardi Limon and Coke -- which was 95% Bacardi Limon -- and moving on to twin White Russians with Joel.

We were at least midway through the second glasses of water that we were pacing ourselves with -- 10ish -- when a very young man sidled up to the bar next to Patrick and needed change of some sort. It seemed strange but whatever.

We three drooled. Who is that? I wondered (indirect quote because I can't quite remember what I said).

Whoever it is, he's twelve, figured Patrick (indirect quote).

I'm sure that for our purposes he was actually a gangling boi of nineteen, skinny as anything, and wearing -- this is classic -- blue camouflage military pants. Killer!

This boi then proceeded to bring out a pair of raver glowsticks and dance with them -- as he had the entire Mirabar dance floor to himself, and some guy who was kind of standing next to him.

Tipsiness (tipsyness?) led me to do something I've been thinking about for a while. Joel popped for the drinks. I grabbed the pen after he was done signing the credit slip.

YOU ARE ABOUT
TO BE BLOGGED.
READ topstorylive.blogspot.com TOMORROW
FOR THE STORY.

I scribbled this across the back of one of my famous TopStoryLive business cards as Patrick rubbernecked over my shoulder.

When I walked over to this young man who had, lucky for me, momentarily halted his glow-stick twirling, I pressed it into his hand and walked back... to gales of laughter from Patrick.

So what? Hope I didn't put you on the spot too much, whomever you are. I don't know your name, and you probably will never truly be connected with this entry unless you want to be.

Let me know -- either thru topstorylive at yahoo dot com or a comment -- if you would prefer to be off the Net.

Labels: Originally published

... Scribbled by Bill T ... 5/18/2005 06:36:00 PM ... Email this entry ...
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