Lethal Dose

Vine Street, corner of Sunset. A few drunks are sitting on the ground, leaning against the wall. One gets up and staggers towards me. I’m ready.

“Are you a man?” he asks me.

“Uh, nope.”

“Oh, too bad … because I like men.”

I was about to tell him to keep walking until he hit Santa Monica Blvd, but I knew better. I have the freak-gene. They love me. Something about me calls out to them that I’m okay to talk to, harass, yell at, decide you’ve known forever, start in the middle of a conversation … I don’t know what it is. After 11 years in NY I got so attuned that when one of “them” sat next to me on the subway, my temples would start to twinge and I’d get up and move. It happens to me everywhere: Target, the DMV, Starbucks, Trader Joe’s, you name it. I got the freak-appreciation-gene from my Dad, a formidable character himself and a bartender for many years. I’m always fascinated by those who march to their own drummer, because god knows it’s a harder road. To go all out there - really lose your marbles and go wild - takes guts! There’s a homeless guy on the other side of Sunset and Vine who (I’ve posted his pix here, I think) regularly wears tattered women’s lingerie over his clothes. That takes work. He had reverted to menswear, much to my disappointment, but after the AFI festival in the neighborhood, I spotted him with a new blue dress on, and two matching AFI gift-tote bags. Just fantastic!

PS. Here he is, I took this in the summer:

Our model shows his support for the soldiers in this season’s latest combat fatigue trousers, along with a black, full-support sports bra, topped with a bright red lace teddy.