Tags
dancing, fever, gypsies, Hill Street, La Cita, Los Angeles, Malaboma, Thanksgiving eve, underground Los Angeles
11:30pm 11.23.11
Scene: a seedy hispanic dive bar, downtown Los Angeles
It took awhile to pick up that night, but sure enough it did. The once empty dance floor covered in red light filled with the sound of trumpets and tubas. The crowd poured forward like moths to a flame. And then the fireflies came out. The short ripped shorts, ruffled dresses, billowing scarves, feathers in hair, and fur lined cuffs blurred as the whole bar went into ludicrous speed.
I was there with a friend of mine. We’d traded outtings from a Spanksgiving eve celebration to come out amongst gypsies in Los Angeles’ monthly endeavor into the underground- Malaboma.
It was, yet another Los Angeles first for me. A highly anticipated Los Angeles first.
I didn’t know many people there but as gypsy and suited man entered the bar one after the other, I noticed one in particular that shared a secret.
“You look like someone familar.” I said and I pulled her close to my ear.
“Oh?”
“Do you like to get tied up?”
She smiled and embraced me.
“It’s so great to see you!”
My night was glittering. There were other flies on the radar, but naught one where warm wishes beyond that light moment would happen tonight. My mind was elsewhere. But that, said she, was a different story all together.
The trio- my friend and his two female friends- stood in the crowd and danced. We dodged a menagerie of unwanted toys: the mexican guy with rat tails, the guy in the track jacket, the man who had borrowed Doc Brown’s time machine from the 80s just to be at this party, and, the favorite, the Indian lumberjack. I was afraid to completely let go. I didn’t want to make eye contact with any of those men. They, however, blocked the path towards the front of the stage where the real dancing was happening.
But then the band started walking off the stage into the crowd. They were wandering souls catering to a wandering clan of misfits. The surge of the music filled the bar some more. My heart raced as the tempo built up. Some of the girls started a line and began dancing around the band. I looked at my friend and said goodbye. He might not have heard me but it only took a minute for him to know what I was about to do.
Dear girls last night, thank you for putting your hand out and giving me exactly what I wanted.
