the best night yet.
someone dropped in a hamilton in my tip jar, and we consistently had over forty people in the room at any given one time. i had people dancing. i had people peak at fifty.
the whole theme was über-gay dance music (think marc almond, the smiths and erasure) and all prince, since, well, he was apparently charging a franklin a head at the church of paisley park tonight, espousing his jehovah’s witness tripe. it wasn’t for a loss, though. i had queer girls dancing to the seldom-heard extended version of “let’s go crazy”. sweet.
seventy-three bucks. for spinning. i couldn’t possibly bitch about this.
prince, you’re still a lost guy. forty-four years should have taught you a thing or two. you’re no dumb-arse. you’re gifted. you’re well-travelled. why can’t you fucking get it?