I should start by saying that we do not live in a bad neighborhood. We do, however, live in a neighborhood where new, upscale stores (art galleries and high-end meeting spaces and day spas and shiny salons) do battle with older, grittier businesses (liquor stores and cheap Indian takeout and, well – sex shops).
So, once upon a time, there was a porn shop across the street, well-stocked with candy-colored marital aids and oversized video boxes bearing such titles as Forced to Lactate: Volume XVII. Later, the porn store branched out, adding a case full of smoking paraphernalia in glass and bronze, all of it to be used only for smoking tobacco, of course. One night, though, we heard a sound, and NovySan looked out and said, “Why are they pressure washing the porn store?” and the next day, it was gone, carried off in a mighty torrent of water.
A couple of doors down, though, sits a business built on water – The Roman Holiday. It has no windows, but it’s open 24 hours. Some of its clientele walk proudly through the front door, while others slink through the back, shoulders hunched and hoods pulled low over their blushing cheeks.
Whoever it was who walked past my house on his way back from the bathhouse yesterday was, I suspect, one of the former, unless he dropped this packet in his fumbling haste to get back in his car without being recognized.
To The Roman Holiday – kudos for encouraging safer sex, though I’m amused by your recent rebranding as a health club.
To Joe Lube – custom-printed condoms and lube? That’s seriously kind of cool.
And to the guy who dropped his lube – I better not find the matching condom out there. Especially if it’s been used.
