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He set Strawberry and me up with glasses of rosé and asked what we'd been up to.We told him we'd been at a party at Monty's, who is normally one of Elliot's Saturday night regulars.When I asked Strawberry to come along, she readily accepted.In fact, another friend had already suggested she go.So I gave up my Harbor East platinum-card fantasies and ventured into gritty Fell's Point proper, first stopping at Loring Cornish's mosaic gallery for a pizzazz infusion.
marriages end in divorce, there are more single people in their thirties, forties and fifties than ever before. I have no answer to these questions but I do know this -- there are only two single men in Baltimore and they both have girlfriends. In 2009, when I arrived in town newly separated, helpful friends pointed out two fellows I'll call Monty and Elliot.
She clearly did not subscribe to the order-a-drink-and-see-what-happens school of dating.
Finally, I pulled her into a chair at a sidewalk cafe to get a hamburger.
I am sad to report that it started with Monty and ended with Elliot and both Strawberry and I were home in bed by 11.
Plans for the evening were conceived when I received an invitation to one of Monty's famous soirees, an event I assumed would be teeming with romantic possibility.
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We turned up dozens of hipsters barely over their acne, two drag queens named Ellen Degenerate and Miss Construed, a bunch of my students from the University of Baltimore, and, briefly, John Waters, but even the open-minded and dauntless Rainbow Bright could find nothing of concupiscent consequence. we finished the last of our vodka-sodas and called it a night. "Reminds me of France," commented Strawberry, but this apparently was not a good thing, as she took all of ninety seconds to case the joint and head for the door.