Friday the 13th
A night in Maspeth, NY
They directed me to the left-hand line leading downstairs. A German woman stopped me at the gate. She said:
“What brings you out tonight?”
“I wanted to see a show.”
“Whose show?”
“L— I guess.”
“You guess or you know?”
“I’m here to see L—.”
“So you’re here to see L—.”
“Yes.”
“Okay.”
She let me further in. At another check, somebody scanned the ticket on my phone. They placed stickers on my cameras. No photos. No videos. No reentry.
The place was completely dark except for thin, red spotlights that scanned the floor automatically. Fog rolled around everywhere and there were many hidden alcoves and corridors.
I walked to the back of the chamber to the all-gender restroom. The graffiti said things like:
Eat shit and die alone
Free Palestine
Where the trans people at?
Punch Nazis in the dick
I mostly drank Red Bull all night. But at one point, I decided to get a drink with alcohol in it. I saw they served Boulevard Quirks and didn’t quite believe it. I had always associated them with Kansas City Taylor Swift culture. Seeing them in an underground dance club in NYC made me feel like I might be dreaming. I didn’t think they were a national brand.
I pointed at the Quirks and shouted “are those Boulevard Quirks?”
The bartender scowled and shouted “what?”
I pointed again and repeated, “are those Boulevard Quirks?”
He screamed: “Look at ME, in the FACE, and TELL ME WHAT YOU WANT.”
I said I wanted a Boulevard Quirk and he pointed to the payment terminal and said “it’s right there.”
It was a Quirk. I wasn’t dreaming. I paid in cash and walked out of the club into the night. I found a pack of Lucky Strikes on the ground. It was 3 AM, Saturday the 14th.