In one night: An older gentlemen — who claims to be heir to millions of dollars he turned down — tells me about his sexual predilection for old women and recites original poetry to me about how life’s easier lived with a good woman. Cute girls are not carded. A man with nice teeth speaks to me in broken Cantonese and climbs on the bar. A vagrant makes kissy faces through the window. I drink something roughly the color of radioactive waste. I play an enthralling game of Peggle on an iPhone that does not belong to me. A cop walks in. I coax a tequila hater into trying 901. I get scolded for taking photos (and am just drunk enough to not care). I witness a lot of manhugs and middle fingers. I hear all kinds of stories about Beale Street regulars and, essentially, what amounts to their absurd sit-com lives. I barely sleep.
What a bunch of assholes.