I'm just strolling down memory lane today thinking about my times at Bowery bar. Tuesday was called Beige and I was a poor college student just trying to fit in. There were many a night where I would pop a vicodone and a beer (because I had the pills, and that was about all I could afford) and trip the lights fantastic.
I should have known the first time I did this that I was on route to alcoholism, but I didn't not and this was just the beginning. It was wonderful and magical and sad all at the same time. Calvin Klein was there, I new the door man. I had come of age. I really just wanted to fit in. I wanted to be excepted by the rich people. I was no better than a cheap hooker in diesel jeans.
I realize now that I would always go to this sad place after a while. I would ask why no one was hitting on me. It was a pretty lonely existence, but wasn't it fabulous?
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