Sublunari

Pride and spectacle (part 1)

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It was a very hectic weekend. My old friend G from Arizona visited in time for the pride weekend. San Francisco is your mecca, she’s told me more than once. And there’s no better time to be gay in San Francisco than on pride weekend.

On Saturday, we spent a good long hour trying to locate one freaking parking spot around Castro. When we’re about to give up and go home, we found one. We walked about 4 blocks and found a nice, local coffee shop called Four Barrel. Interiors are that of a rice or coffee bean mill warehouse. They serve from two counters – one where people just want their coffee simple and ready to go, the other counter was for real coffee connoisseur where, at least to me, a caffeine fix is complicated. I had iced coffee, which tasted like nothing I’ve tried before: it’s rustic and deep (there I risked sounding pretentious; I don’t really know what I mean by that!)

G and I watched the people milling around outside the huge glass windows. We were seated at a bar that looks out at the sidewalk where there is an extended al fresco bar that spills over the sidewalk onto the street. In one of the al fresco bar was this romantic gay couple who couldn’t keep their hands to oneself. We could not decide if they just met each other and was excited about their new explorations or was breaking up  and was doing some, you know, breakup cuddle? G thought they may have been far apart for a long time and just got together again. The other guy eyes tell me he loves the other more. Those were some dewy, sweet, kind pair of eyes.

That night Castro was practically closed to traffic. There was block party. I knew it as street party. But there was really no centralized musical or party event. People just put out some blasting speakers and played party music. The gays just went on finding a favorite spot and partied on, with or without clothes. Apartments looking over the streets have their window blinds opened to topless men or women gyrating to the crowd, even in playful competition with the boobs from the other window across the street. I saw a man perhaps in his 70s strutting his shrunk stuff (it was a cold night). My night need not have that memory when I want to look back a few prides later, I thought to myself.

We met with G’s lesbian Vietnamese friend who was with her other Asian fusion lesbian friends in a – you guessed it – Vietnamese restaurant to have dinner. I wasn’t hungry though I should be. Too much new things make my digestive system act weird. I had Saigon beer and some egg rolls (both were amazing). We went back to the street party, found a bunch of people dancing, no, wasted-dancing in front of a Victorian house. I let the lesbians hump and thrust their crotches into each other. I watched them hunt their preys. Not two seconds passed and their already feeling up stoned chick. Stoned chick would later ask to the entire town if anybody has water. Apparently she was feeling hot because when she came back, hello titties!

Lesbians continued on their rampage and moved on from the stoned chick to a couple of goths. One was Asian, which my Asian companions apparently don’t dig as much. They aimed their crossbows to the white, goth girl. I swear I just blinked. I blinked and G’s Vietnamese friend was deep in the goth’s mouth already. And they frenched and frenched forever the French may have recovered from recession after.

Don’t you dare let me derail your adventures girl, I told G when we were waiting for the tongue-tied to breathe for air. You go on and kiss a girl, too.

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Written by markus

June 27, 2012 at 9:43 pm

Posted in Travel

Tagged with , ,

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