So gay, my Paris

How to really explain this…

I’m a big fan of those kinds of nights where things happen without plan or direction. Nights where you:

- Get ridiculously wasted on free alcohol, courtesy of the Pompidou no less;

- Get kicked out of a foreign cultural centre for laughing too hard at a humungous stack of Schweppes;

- Hang out with some dudes on a giant bed so big it’s blocking the whole goddam road;

- Go to another club where you meet up with some people who give you champagne stolen from the Bulgarian mafia;

- Kiss several Aryan poofs (that could just be my imagination because I think it was only one Aryan poof who changed his hairstyle half-way through the night);

- Then come home only to spend ten minutes typing out one sentence for your stupid blog. (Which is ten solid minutes you’ll regret losing when you wake up still drunk after four hours of sleep to go to work).

Everything in here is real, especially the giant bed in the middle of the road. I could tell you about the Arab hottie whose number I scammed, but then this would be a tell all. Comfort yourself with this fact: the bed was the size of my living room, it had a canopy so that a you could stay fresh and dry when it rained, and it came with an accompanying bar service. Don’t ask me what it was doing there because I never bothered to ask. Dudes were so chill it just seemed natural. I think I just stumbled upon the secret nerve centre of the whole teenage riot network… and if their new thing is just to build beds in the centre of the street, collect all the teenage hotties and make them all wise, sexy and fun, I’m down my brothers! The craziest thing was at the end, this like totally aged French guy comes by, toddling along with a walking stick and red beret, and steals some smoke from one of the boys. So gay, my Paris.