It was only a dream, or perhaps Luc and Michael were cooking it up in their penthouse apartment. I had half of a croissant, one slice of raisin toast, and a sesame seed bagel, with two or three cups of coffee. There were three copies of the newspaper this morning (there's usually just been one), and I grabbed pieces until I had one of each of the three sections that comprised the paper today. I read through the paper, and checked out the obits. One interesting one to clip into my collection.
After breakfast we hung around the room. I finished Life of Pi, and napped a little. At about 3:30, we took a walk out to get some lunch, with the plan being to eat at the Lafayette restaurant at which Steve had eaten the day before yesterday, I believe. The place with the killer hot dog, fries, and a drink for just over $5, and where one of the workers had talked to him about the Outer Banks.
On the way, we stopped by that store in which I'd seen that soap dispenser and toothbrush holder, and I made a note of what time it closed to stop on the way back. We also stopped in the same card store I was in the other day, and Steve went through some of the cards.
We passed Le Strago, where we ate on Monday night, I believe, the place with that killer lasagna. I grabbed about 7 or 8 (the rest of the stack, actually) of their business cards, as we had taken the last one at the guest house, and I thought Luc and Michael would appreciate having some more.
We at at the Lafayette. I had a hot dog with cheese, bacon, and ketchup on it, and a side order of fries. Steve had a pasta dish that looked like lasagna, which was stuffed with ricotta cheese and spinach. It also came with a side Caesar salad, and pea soup. I tried not to look at the pea soup, which Steve found delicious.
It drizzled a little while we were eating, and I regretted not grabbing my umbrella before leaving the guest house. The clouds have been so ominous today, that it seemed like it was just a matter of time before the bottom fell out. It passed, however, and our walk home was quite pleasant.
We stopped at that card shop again on the way back, and I bought that one card I love, probably to give to Will on his birthday coming up in September. I just love it. It's the one about being one date away from being bitter.
I also stopped back by the store called "Passion," and bought that soap dispenser and toothbrush holder, a lot at Steve's insistence. "Girl, you never buy yourself anything, and you really like this. Just get it." The clerk was nice, and kind of cute, though not really my type. He was blond, and didn't look hairy at all. He had spent two years (his last two years of high school) in Washington, DC, and was a "military brat," originally from Vancouver. I asked him if he could wrap them up for me as I had to fly with them, and he wrapped both items in bubble wrap, and actually placed them in their original boxes for me. Nicely done.
Our next stop was at the dollar store, as Sue had called Steve, and said, "You've got to pick up something for me from the dollar store. We got this ridiculously huge pill holder that said, "Sunday, Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday,... across the top of each compartment, "S, M, T, W,..." across the middle of each compartment, and "Dimanche, Lundi, Mardi, Mercredi, Jeudi, Vendredi, and Samedi" across the bottom of each compartment. It's big, with the entire thing being about 12 inches long, and each compartment about 1.5 inches by 2 inches. You could store each day's make-up supply in each compartment as well as the day's drug supply.
From there, we crossed the street, and entered the ATM section of the bank on the corner to get out cash to get us through tonight and to the airport tomorrow. Steve went first, and he was unable to withdraw from his account, with an error message that didn't give you any idea why not. So, I got out enough for both of us, and he'll pay me back later.
Steve wanted to immediately call an 800 number on the back of the card to find out what was up. We crossed the street, and I sat and people-watched for a few minutes while he used a phone booth. He had over a $1000 in his account, so he still wasn't sure why the transaction couldn't complete, but it put his mind to rest to know it wasn't from overdrawing.
We walked the short walk down St. Hubert back to the guest house, passing our favorite, "dead," hospital. I gave the Le Strago cards to Luc, who appreciated them, and went downstairs to get some ice. He (Luc) came down shortly after, and waved the television remote control that was in his hand to me. "I've been carrying this around the place thinking it was my phone," he said. We both laughed. "Have you gotten any calls?" I asked.
With a Jack and Coke out on the deck, I caught up this journal.
Tonight's final night out spot was the club called "Parking," which bonus, was not at all far from where we're staying. When we left to go out it was raining a little. Steve went back up to get his umbrella, and after walking with him just a little ways, I decided to "jog" to the club. Steve arrived shortly after I did, and "checked" his umbrella - for a $2.00 charge.
The club wasn't too busy, but turned out to be much bigger than what we saw of it earlier in the week when we stepped in to check it out. It got busier and busier as the night when on, of course, and the dance music on the upper floor was quite phenomenal.
I sat downstairs for a while, and a cute little guy sat next to me. I could see out of the corner of my eye that he was looking at me. Eventually I turned toward him, and smiled. We said hello, and started talking to each other. He had a French accent, accents always being somewhat of a chore in bars, where it's already hard to hear.
He'd been living in Montreal for four years, was originally from Paris, but Algerian. We were both sitting on stools when we started talking, but shortly after introductions, he stood up, moved close to me, and started rubbing his crotch on my knee. Cute, short, muscular guy. God knows what he was doing interested in me with the plethora of hot, built men in the place.
He had only come for an hour or so after work. He manages a coffee shop in "the Village," and had just gotten off at 10:00PM. He had stopped by to say hello to a friend of his who ran one of the four or five bars in the place. His names was Jeff, but when pressed, said it was originally Jeffar. When he originally said Jeff, I said, "Really? Jeff? Not Henri? Not Jean? Not Pierre, or Jean-Pierre?" He smiled, and that's when admitted it was really Jeffar, an Algerian name, actually.
Toward the end of the evening, maybe around 1:15, Steve and I went upstairs and danced. The music there was just incredible. When you walked into the room, it felt like your internal organs were vibrating. We walked around to one of the back corners of the dance floor, and danced there.
There was this guy dancing on the dance floor, who I thought was just a little too heavy to be dancing without a shirt, and dancing in what I would classify as a "slightly dorky" way. He was holding a water bottle, and was slapping it against his stomach, leg and arm to the beat as he was dancing. Steve danced next to him a little while, and then he danced over toward me. I turned away a little, not wanting to make eye contact with him, but he said something to the effect of, "I'm going to dance over there and take out some twink," as if he were going to bump into someone dancing. I just smiled and turned around dancing.
It wasn't until about 30 minutes later that it dawned on me that this was Shawn, the guy with the pits and thighs on the couch in the lobby watching 48 Hours earlier in the week. The window washer guy was there, too, and even with Shawn talking to him occasionally, it didn't occur to me that it was him.
We stopped at McDonald's on the way home. Steve ate; I didn't. It was fairly packed in there for 2:15 in the morning.