It had to be only die-hard party people out on Saturday night. I mean, who in their right mind would bother to step foot, never mind 5” party heels, outside on a night when it was debatable as to whether one should really be working on plans for an arc? But, clearly not of sane minds, my cohorts and I braved the morass and went hither and thither until we’d met all our obligations to land up way down off 3rd Street in a surprising warehouse cum loft where tuxes and gowns were the attire for the night (until the 3:00 am costume change), with the exception of one naked man (sock, shoes and cockring, not withstanding) who ran around playing a clarinet until the sun came up.
I'm not sure whether the rest of us were having so much fun or were merely loathe to step into the rain that had abated none, but revel on we did well past sunrise... Never mind mad dogs and English men out in the midday sun, we were fab fags and Scots woman out in the torrential morn... or something like that. My brain's still recovering...
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