We met that Bonnie B. afterwards at Crush, this really great upscale sort of gay lounge on Morrison. We were starving and the food was suprisingly stellar. I would go back again just for the cobb salad, but we also ran into some Columbus lesbians there that we sort of know but not really. Mostly we just hung out and I developed a renewed appreciation for Rufus and Chaka Khan duets.
We drove that Bonnie B. home from Crush up to St. Johns which is a big neighborhood situated north of Portland proper. And for like the fifth time, we got horribly turned around up there and wound up at Jantzen Beach, the last exit before crossing into Washington (which is incidentally the site of a recent large drug bust case I am embroiled in). St. John is a black hole of mysterious roads that go the opposite way from what you thought. So says I. And poor Rebecca. She does most of the driving and listens to me when I say "turn that way!" which is invariably the wrong direction. And at one point in our winding odyssey we had our headlights turned off, and three guys ran into the street at screaming for us to turn them back on. Helpful Portlanders.
Music For You:
Edwin Starr - 25 Miles
James Brown - Funky Christmas