Last night, we went to Barnaby’s for dinner. The original on Fairview, which I’ve nicknamed “stinky” Barnaby’s because the other two are so yuppified. We were originally heading for Tutto Bene, but it seems that old place got run out of bidness by the onslaught of pre-fab townhouses on Feagan. That, or I’m a moron and drove right past it twice without seeing it. Six of one.

Since the night was so pleasant, we sat outside at Barnaby’s. No one else was sitting there and it was very quiet compared to the snapping loudness of the inside. We popped a bottle of wine, enjoyed the breeze, toasted ourselves on our exquisite taste for finding the perfect spot to grab a bite to eat. Very peaceful. Until an older man and two young hustlers showed up and sat next to us. Of course. There were five other tables, but they sat next to us. One (or more) of them had the WORST body odor. It was horrific. One of the hustlers had just been picked up off the street. Literally. He was ready to get his grub on, too. Ordered lasagna and cheesecake. No, I wasn’t trying to eavesdrop. I had no choice but to listen because he was so fucking loud.

Deciding I’d rather hurt the stinky hustler’s feelings than have to listen to anymore of his cracked out bullshit, I asked the waitress to move us to another table. The furthest table from the man whores. Much better. Then, a table of eight young Christians showed up and sat at the table next to us. For fuck’s sake. Going from one extreme to the other. The Christians got hustled by the crackhead. The old guy and the other hustler left Cracky at the table with the tab for the lasagna and cheesecake, so he asked the Christians for some money, honey. And they obliged, which I think they have to do – it’s in the rulebook. They took the opportunity to tell Cracky about their church, which meets right around the corner. At a coffee shop. Of course. At least their virginal aura blocked the skank ass aura coming from Puff the magic drag queen. Actually, that’s insulting to drag queens. I’m sure they earned some points for helping out a person in need, and he got the opportunity to tell his bullshit story.

Why do I think it was bullshit? Because when people want to suggest they are something they are not, they accidentally give some telltale signs. For instance, his vocabulary was not appropriate for the conversation. He said gratuity instead of tip. Beverage instead of drink. Things like that – things that you don’t say in casual conversation (and I’d consider a conversation in which you describe, in detail, what the older man and other hustler were doing to each other at that very moment in an apartment right around the corner to be a casual conversation). He was trying to make these kids think he was for real, and I think they did.

While I appreciate the fact that my life is always obliging the storyteller in me with fodder, sometimes it would be nice to just have a quiet dinner.

Maybe. Or maybe I’d just be bored.

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