Let Me Tell You a Bedtime Story

So, last night a couple of my new found friends and I headed out on the town with the specific intention of not returning to the same pub I had been to the past evenings. The events that followed were something quite amazing.

We picked up a 5th of bourbon each from the tabac on the corner of the metro at Monamarte and walked up two flights of stairs towards Sacre Cour. It was already almost 2 and I was almost positive the bar I had in mind would be closed. We bought an overpriced cocktail at a place we ascertained would be open for at least another hour. The residue of the pride parade that had taken place in the streets earlier had left the dance floor stuck in 1972 and full of gay men, so we decided to keep hoofing it. We briefly entertained two dude while trying to find out where the after hours bar would be in the area when we heard very loud american music coming from down the road. We followed the sound. There was what appeared to be a full on rager taking place in an apartment on the second floor of a building in front of us. Took a swig of my bourbon and marched over to the gate of the building. After a few minutes someone left and we walked through the open door. Veronica knocked hard on the door and a guy answered. In broken French I told him that we liked to dance and raised a eyebrow. He waved us in. We made ourselves a drink in their kitchen and I put Kayne on the stereo. Made friends with a man from Berlin and somehow we killed three hours until the trains started running again. Ronnie and I ate a quiche from the open boulongerie while we waited for the RER B. We sat next to a gay dancer from Iowa. He told us he missed Americans. The sun was up. The man from Berlin had my number. I crashed at the dorms at Cite and woke up around 3pm.