Sunday, July 23, 2006

Heard HOSTEL?



Sunday morning, 9a, and you're wrapping up on that sex party in the meat-packing district. Things are still pretty intense. It's still pretty dark, with heavy orange-laden yellow lights highlighting only the corners.

You find the only room serving coffee, and are downing a Cuban, while a Cuban's downing you. You find yourself aurally pleased with the plate master's (don't dare call Dr Mercury a 'disc jockey' unless it's just 'jock') selection of Neal Barr's HOSTEL soundtrack.

Makes the point of the knife in your asscheek all the more daring.

4 Comments:

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