i don't have the alcohol gene, I believe. not even from my absentee dad. he was the inveterate philanderer, but he could never, as my mother disdainfully claimed, hold his drink.
but living in a city that licenses more wet bars than starbucks, i can not deny the urge to tipple sometimes although not as regularly as this verb connotes.
bad weather that's just mindless, boyfriendless weekend, or make that season. i'm there. and these days, there, more often, is this wine bar in the lower east that my ex detested.
dusk, friday. emerging from the subway, i shuddered just witnessing this: wet city buildings reflecting the fast fading light in coruscations of heartrending beauty, the kind that excises out all resolve of doubting new yorkers conspiring to leave town. what with the crappy climate, the din, the coldness, and I'm not talking again of the weather.
just halfway into my first glass of a crass australian shiraz, somebody familiar sidled to me at the bar. he is this pinoy flaming queen who lorded the dance floor in a midtown rice bar. this when i was still into trance and tight, sweaty dance floors. with his so-twenty-seasons-ago glittery shirt, he could still be queen there these days.
he immediately paraded his escort, his latest boyfriend, according to him. a paunchy white guy in, what else, but office khakis and a button down shirt in indecipherable pastel shade.
how about you? where's your boyfriend? the couple ask. my answer, in between my now accelerating quaffs, was haven't had one in a long while.
honey, the queen, swirling indelicately his glass of barolo, said, a while is long enough. get one now before the train cho-choos south. his boyfriend excused himself and went to smoke out in the cold.
the queen continued. baby, i don't love this man. but honey, I just need the weight of a man over me.
feigning a just remembered appointment, i escaped the smiling couple just after the happy hour was officially declared over.
the drizzle earlier was now a steady wet snow shower. i covered my head with the hoodie of my parka as i resisted the facile instinct to run to the nearest subway station.
peering from behind the faux fur trim of my hood, i saw again the slick, almost rubbery sides of the rain pelted buildings. whenever a gust barreled against them, the water runneling down their flanks parted and scintillated in the barely there light.
as I took my time walking to the subway, the overwhelming beauty of the city weighed over me like a gorgeous boyfriend i only now realize was always there for my taking.