But first, res ipsa loquitor Hunter S. Thompson. May he have put the fix in for his afterlife.
So I had an old friend surfing on my couch this weekend. Almost ten years earlier he and his now wife moved into a loft rental behind the Alley on Belmont and proceeded to turn it into the best loft space I ever visited. "916", as it was called, hosted the best parties- Halloween parties, live music, movie screenings, poetry readings, lounge lizard-themed cocktail soirees, and anything else one could imagine. Most of us began to stumble into careers, families, other obligations, and the maturation process that comes with growing older. As we did, we tended to not hag out as much at "916", which I think created a void in this friend of mine, as he was the one who brought all of these disparate characters together.
So, as a favor to his wife (who had family in town he cannot get along with), he couch surfed all weekend, first on the couch of my neighbor downstairs, then with me. He decided to make the most of it. We ate dinner at Lawrence's Fisheries on South Canal Street, and we now know why the place is packed at four a.m. every morning. It's perfect hangover food. Then we went to the loft apartment of another friend and her fiance a few blocks from my place, where we just hung out and talked all night, reminiscing on old times. Then we headed home and watched W.C. Fields movies until two a.m., each alternating dozing off before we called it a night.
He stayed until he got the word from his wife that he could come home; around 12: 30 yesterday afternoon. We talked and watched more movies. We don't see each other as much as we used to, but I was much appreciated for the time I had this weekend, however fleeting. I'm sure he was, as well.
As he was packing his bags, we hatched a brilliant idea for a housewarming party that I just may put into action. I'm certain I could count on him to help me pull it off.