That Whole American Election Thing

My abiding memory of the election? I was staying at Natasha Strange’s place in San Francisco, the Embassy. People got very sad and very drunk on the night of November 2. I dragged myself out of my pit on Nov 3, lurched downstairs in search of caffeine. Natasha was already up, tiny and tousled and well pissed off. A grumpy little dominatrix in pink pyjamas, padding sourly down the hallway as she said, “Thank God I have a gangbang to go to today. I need a man to laugh at.”

— W

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