pantryslut: (twilight)
[personal profile] pantryslut
G. and I step out of the building onto a sidewalk strewn with ribbons and multicolored condoms. The club downstairs from the party we're leaving is still open, and the burly doorman is chatting with a well-dressed and young-looking couple. One man, one woman, both slim. Her hair is short and carefully laquered, her makeup heavy and glittery. It makes her look a little waifish and starved.

When the doorman sees us, he asks us a question, clearly on behalf of the couple in front of him.

"Do you know where Otis Street is?"

I say to the couple, "Oh, you're looking for the Power Exchange." It's the only thing on Otis. "It's just a few blocks from here."

"Oh, the Power Exchange! You should have told me that's what you were looking for!" says the doorman. "Oh yeah, that's easy." He gesticulates.

The couple thank him and us nervously, and then walk in precisely the opposite direction. The doorman tries to tell them they're going the wrong way, but they just walk faster. We had spooked them. I was not supposed to know what establishment they were seeking, and saying the name out loud had scared them away. It was supposed to be a secret, and now they were ashamed. They ran away.

Away from the condoms on the street, the sex party winding down just upstairs, the doorman and the people standing on the street, trying to help.
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