#129 and I were out on the gay scene in Barcelona. It was a little frustrating because people looked at us and assumed we were a straight couple, and there wasn’t a whole bunch we could do about that. We propped up the bar at Dietrich and the bartender, who came from San Francisco, eavesdropped until he heard me complain about the lack of women, at which point he presented me with a queer map of Barcelona. We met an older man from Edinburgh who was closeted at home. He was with a hot Dominican boy, maybe in his late twenties, who didn’t speak English, and I can’t remember if the man from Edinburgh knew Spanish. When the bar was closing, we all headed to a place called Metro (I think), me with a handy note scrawled by the bartender, which I presented at the door, like a school sick note. I was too drunk to even think to read it first, but I always assumed it was a variation of “yeah, we know she’s a girl, but it’s okay”. The place was wall-to-wall men. There wasn’t even a toilet for women, so I just queued up with the men and observed the debauchery.
At the bar, the Dominican boy kissed #129 and then me. “I’m not into women,” he added in Spanish, although he’d been the one who initiated it. It didn’t bother me. He was just hot.
#129 and I tried to find our way back to our hostel at 5am or something. It took a good hour of staggering up and down Las Ramblas. Someone approached me and I held up a hand and proclaimed “Don’t give me no shit, bitch.” I don’t remember this but it sounds like a good moment. #129 shared cigarettes with some Welsh backpackers. We stayed in Barcelona for almost a week; it was hard to tear ourselves away and move on.