I have changed the site web address! You will automatically be redirected to www.guybrighton.com in 3 seconds. If your browser doesn't automatically load, click HERE. Guy Brighton's Wishful Thinking: FRIDAY 19th SEPTEMBER : LOST ANGELES



I left New York after catching a quick bagel outside Penn Station and landed in LA just in time for a spot of breakfast. My friend and future successful film director picked me up in his 1982 Honda Accord ("I just love this, man") and we avoided other traffic to cross town.

After an afternoon spent by his pool (6ft by 6ft) in his apt block (that only gets sun to 3.30pm) we met up with Andrew - the English guy who used to be in New York - and Julian and walked, yes walked, to several bars. It's always good to find pubs that sell wife-beater.

Somewhere along the line somebody started driving us. Who? I don't know but the selfish woman decided to take us to a bar where the girls wiggle and waggle their boobs. I do wander why these dancers start off with so few pieces of clothing in the first place - I wonder what would happen it they got on stage dressed as a prim secretary or a sexy aunt when you are a child. Uh-hum, anyway after I enjoyed the clever way they have of taking you into a back room and wiggle their arse in a way that extracts a few extra bucks from your pocket; the highlight must have been the dance off between two of the 'dancers' - altho' Paul's decorating of the sidewalk and his bathroom came a close second. The two girls - one in black PVC one in baby blue vest - vying for our attention and loose bank notes were dancing around poles on two separate 'stages'. I noticed from a suitable seat, that they were determined to outdo each other. First, I think, it was who can climb the fastest and highest to the top of the pole; then it was who can slide down the fastest in the most deft position. The competition increased and they sped their dances up in a wild war of wiggles ignoring all and sundry and me in my special seat. Soon the girls were challenging each other on how much noise their skin could make when they slid down the poles - it turned my tummy a little but didn't prepare me for the finale. As they jumped and slipped the one in the black PVC thingie surpassed the other's efforts as she rose to the top of the pole, stretched out her limbs slowly and holding herself rigid she let go - and just dropped. The fall took a tequila inspired forever but when she landed she produced the most terrible noise of bones, plastic and heels as they bruised the floor. The other dancer retreated - ceding to the victor, in awe of the demonstration - whilst punters either threw their notes at the black PVC dancer or helped her to her feet / awaiting medical care.

September 19, 2003 in Diary, Night Life Adventures, Out of Town Trips | Permalink


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