... sitting at the bar in the Sparrow watching the bartender Johnny dance to the funky tunes played by tribe's very own whynot, Krzysiu sipped a coca cola when who should breeze in the door but the ever photographic Mofo wearing a Burberry scarf, a white shirt and bluejeans, sachel slung nonchalantly over shoulder. Krzysiu was wearing a cowboy shirt embolden by a gaudy broach stolen from Queen Nadia's house and a big faux diamond ring that you could skate on.
Ordering a beer for the photographer, Krzysiu was introduced to a crowd of rapscallion art critics, so many names he cannot even attempt to remember: Victoria, Karen, David, Rhonda, etc... so many names! Johnny the bartender struck up a conversation over whynots tunes (which were fantastic by the way) and introduced him to Lainy who already new Mofo (who doesn't know Mofo by now?) and hair and costumes were discussed at length before the conversation turned to old art parties and cocaine through bendy straws in the back of bowling alleys.
It was time to charge down art and give it the big old pooh-pooh. Into the night, the intrepid team of drunks swam out down Queen Street West's gallery district. Paintings on walls were appraised. Photographs were critiqued. Sculptures were priced and studied. Art flowed like wine and wine flowed like water and water was spitting down on the as drunks stepped in and out of galleries looking for a safe place to think and to even maybe drink.
An attempt to get into a tent party thing was thwarted when the fascist security ejected our intrepid party for smoking and bringing their own booze (which in the real world could be considered considerate, starving artists need their booze for themselves!) and so Krzysiu made a scene screaming "Fascists, Communists, Blistering Barnacles and Thundering Typhoons!"
Quick stop in Bellewood for the use of the portapotties, Krzysiu ran into his friend Emily and her friend Hans who he hadn't seen since university. Numbers were exchanged. Then off to look at more art? No, thats old, lets go to an art party! Where to? Back down the street to the hipster scenster bars! Great Idea!
The Drake Bouncer suddenly loomed in front of them like a white marble statue of authority. NO! NO! he screamed as one of Mofo's team tried to use the "But we're friends" routine to get line bypass. Failure: To the Gladestone. Ug, what a fucking line up!! And the rain just decided to get worse, drenching poor Mofo, soaked but smart, wearing a LCBO bag on his head to protect his hair did. Chinese people invented being clever, more than one person did remark as he walked by.
"Fuck this line up shite, lets go to a house party!" someone screamed at Mofo and Krzysiu. And so they did. Booze and laughs and fun. Krzysiu decided to share a cab with two drunk girls who wanted late night chinese loving, and collapsed in bed, exhausted and sick of talking about fucking art.
