"Can we, as a country, all
: August 2003: Bootshine!
is no better people-watching spot than Burnside
3rd Avenue. It's a crossroads of hipsters, bums,
rockers, meat market shoppers, junkies, prostitutes
and pimps. The Paris Theater is right there, with
all its precious goth and metal kids. Transients
bunk upstairs. I saw one of them eat it after
one last glorious speedball. It's potent, pungent
shit. It's a moveable feast. And a purrrfect place
to get a bootshine.
God for the incredibly handsome Mr. David, who
recognized this straight away and opened a bootshine
stand right outside of Voodoo Doughnut. David
must've noticed all the not-so shiny shiny boots
of leather walking into Dante's, Berbati's and
the Paris night after night and saw that there
was a clear and present need for his services.
was only a matter of time before we crossed paths.
On this particular night I was running late for
a date, but when I saw David I stopped in my tracks.
I desperately needed a
bootshine. David seemed to really appreciate my
fishnets and insanely short skirt. I asked him
how late he'd be shining.
you come back! I don't care if it's 3AM--I'll
giggled and stammered something unintelligible,
and he responded with the best piece of advice
I've ever received.
go do whatchya wanna do, and keep doin' it 'til
couple hours later I was happily ensconced in
his blue patent leather throne, queen of the burnouts,
holding court with Old Town's beatific freaks
while David sprayed, brushed, lotioned, rubbed
and buffed my favoritest Florentine boots until
they reflected the moonlight like an oil slick.
All sorts of Portland's grooviest Cool People
paraded by, including Harvey Hardcock and his
girlfriend Rosanna Arquette and later ELVIS! Voodoo
Doughnut (the birthplace of the PMS doughnut,
the Nyquil doughnut and the always popular Cereal
doughnut) brought me a
specially made cock-and-balls doughnut, the cock
of which I happily devoured, saving the balls
for Severina. [Sadly these pictures were too pornographic
the time David finished what he assured me was
a labor of love, a small crowd had assembled,
including an especially florid bum who had recently
wet himself. I was so thrilled with my boots that
I planted one on David, who one-upped me by full-on
frenching me within an inch of my life. Now that's
service! Meanwhile the bum informed Mr. Pink,
the photographer, that he was going to go home
and jerk off, then asked, "Can I cum on you?"
3rd and Burnside, man. No place like it in the
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