Rain drops in the yellowish greenish trees of the fall.
Three cups of hot chocolate
Dinner in a pastry shop: or was it lunch
Sparkling wine in the car, and the Cd shops
Store after store after store…
Two pretty boys. One Indian the other Italian
THIS IS NOT a pathetic attempt at cheesy POETRY.
THIS IS A summary OF MY Saturday:
Until ofcourse it became saturday night.
A place different, a different kind.
Same two boys but for addition of yet nother pretty English boy.
It was supposed to be a great night. It was a great night.
Some body had problem with the fact that: he was english,
he was Indian, I was ugandan
And he was only one Italian:
Italians Only. The disco plaque should have said. Well, no plaques need to say anything when there is
talking, breathing humans in the 21century doing the talking.
He, my beautiful Italian boy was there to work. we had gone along< it was saturday night, we had had an amazing day, so why not?! And plus, we are all fascinated by this project he’s working on. Every weekend night atleast two or three people book in with him to follow him to whichever disco club he is shooting at…
Well, we spent the entire winter night between the balcony, and in the cloack room with him. He wouldnt enter the Italians Only. We pleaded with him: you are working, we have no problem staying out here…we will chat these pretty people up, drink and smoke and probably get stoned and piss all over these people’s floor (okay none of it was said like that, but it all should have).
But no, he wouldn’t go.
We got a few not good shots, here there (none of which he will ever use, coz they were obviously not he was looking for).
We drove back home at 6.40am in the morning….when we stopped for break fast, one of the boys picked up a fight with the singing christmas tree. I will tell you that was my favourite moment ever.
It is not racism. It is not italian….. it is fascism. It one against two, three, four, twenty, one thousand etc etc