Michael T. Kowalsky

An interesting evening
Went to Le Pub, met up with Kate, Ian, Mike, Mark, two other French guys. Green Day cover band. Went to dance floor, four of us started with no one around us. Fun. Creepy old guy who smelled funny tried to dance with us. Not fun.
Went back to terrasse side, Ian and Mike left.
See a funny gentleman in a fuzzy wool sweater and a bow tie playing the air guitar, except with his leg, and he’s drunk and people are staring. We’re laughing. His utter insanity, aside from chugging beer, is so foreign to these people they are terrified of him. A gentleman walking past makes a face at me, as if we’re all in it together to laugh.
Except I think I started laughing with guitar legs.
He then came over to us and pushed himself really close to me, yelling “It’s really hot in here!” before running back to his corner with his other calmer counter-point, a gentleman with long hair and a little beard. We laughed, then he ran back – this time, he grabbed my ankle, stood behind my leg and began strumming wildly on my new guitar. This was no light strumming. He said nothing more, then ran back to his friend again.
Creepy old dude had come out to the terasse as well so Denise and I decided to return into the “club” to dance again. I walked passed bow tie and told him straight up I was in love with his perfectly done up bow tie, the one I had watched him do up moments before despite being drunk as a skunk. He then sort of invited himself to dance with us.
The floor was empty once more, perhaps because we were no longer holding the base down. Denise, bow tie and I started dancing on the stage. His dancing quickly attracted a crowd of bemused, annoyed, and smiling patrons. Most made faces of disgust while he slid up and down with his back against the wall, his arms holding into the rafters, the walls, anything while his hips gyrated in a way that awoken sexual desires in latent homosexuals and made insecure straight males angry. He would reach out randomly in an attempt to grab other girls near the stage, and they all moved away from him, making faces at each other, their noses scraping the ceiling. The gentleman who made a face at me earlier came to high five me twice, yelling something unintelligible in my ear in French.
There was a light outskirt of people watching from the bar and the other parts of the club. And some of them were laughing, taping. The DJ got a real kick out of it, watching him and laughing. He turned the spotlight on him for a few moments, possibly made dedications into his mic that was much too loud for articulation.
Laura and Kate came into the club for a bit, then motioned to us that they were leaving. Denise and I decided to stick around, I, mostly because I had no work the next day, she, possibly for the calm counter point whom she was dancing with on the stage.
Bow tie left the stage for water, and I hopped off the increasingly crowded stage. One boy took my hand and danced with me, then spun me into his arms. We started dancing (uncomfortably, mind you) with him spinning me out and in a few times, before he tried to kiss me, his face in the nape of my neck, on my cheeks. I pushed him away, but he insisted on dancing again. His hands wandered, I pushed him away and he finally got the point.
I ended up hopping on the stage again, and bow tie joined me shortly after. We danced until the very end, and the final song was a slow one. Most people left the dance floor, but a taller chubby gentleman who had been watching the dance floor came forward and asked me to dance. We swayed like awkward high schoolers and talked. His name was Patrick and he was from Quebec City, simply traveling in the area. Nothing of great importance was said, and after the dance we parted ways.
We met up on the terrasse and talked a while before security kicked us out.
Boys across the street on the fourth floor in a building hollered and waved at the leaving patrons, hoping for an after party. The four of us ended up sitting in an alcove, avoiding the rain, sitting and talking. Bow tie boy, whose named we learned is Mike, had a mandolin on his back. Anton, the calmer gentleman, was carrying around a small xylophone. Mike sang some jazz songs, I sang along with him. A gentleman about to drive away in a car joined us to watch, impressed and amused by Mike’s musical ability. We stood around and we talked for a while, and he then invited us to his studio for a jam session. His car was full, however, and his friends wanted to go, so he ended up leaving, but not before getting Denise’s number. After sitting around and talking for a long while about what everyone wanted to do with their futures (Mike, politics, Anton, idealist doctor in a Latin American country) we got into a cab and drove to their car near Vieux Port at a parking lot near the pedestrian bridge. The tab was 5 dollars as it definitely wasn’t far, but it was raining.
We hung out in their car for a little while, and Mike showed me his washburn Ukulele. It was pretty damn nice, despite being very out of tune and a little sticky around the body. More talking, about politics, things I have no inclination for at 5 in the morning.
Denise was hungry, so we decided to look for food. Anton drove Mike’s car since Mike was still quite drunk and possibly out of his mind. Watching him sober up into the morning, one realizes his insanity has little to do with his alcohol.
After getting “lost” (as lost as one can get in a town where there is only one real main street), we ended up at the 24 hour restaurant in the Intercar building. We shared poutine (with just shredded cheese versus cheese curds). And it was horrible. Pogos were involved but Anton took it. Mike tried to teach me how to do a bow tie, and he did it up for me; unfortunately, I couldn’t watch him do it so I just ended up wearing a bow tie. However, instead of adding class as one would hope, it made me look like a playboy bunny since I was wearing a dress.
His voice is sheepish; he told us a million stories about himself, singing class presentations, trying to date his teacher, his virginity story. He’s nervous and totally unconcerned, has a conflicting relationship with women, comes from a Eastern European family that does not verbalize love. A family relationship constructed like business: reared, groomed, prepared for society and let out. His father is dead.
And they ended up with an awkward son who thrives in awkward situations, goes to a club in a wool sweater and a bow tie. His hair is wiry and floats about his head as if his thoughts alone are electrifying. He has glasses, he wears shorts, and he’s skinny. His shoes didn’t have laces. And throughout the night he made awkward and sheepish advances, taking rejection in stride a if one were commenting on the weather. While he was doing up my bow tie (and was quite close out of necessity for he had to do it as if it was his own neck) he said I smelled good, apologizing.
Afterward, we returned to the house and they came in with us. I played ukulele softly for Mike, Denise disappeared into the living room with Anton. Mike fell asleep on the kitchen floor. I took a shower and finally crawled into bed at about 7:40 in the morning.
They left shortly after in the morning and I never saw them out. I wish the two the best in their adventures.

Also, woke up this afternoon to the sound of two cats howling outside my window, very likely screwing. Uncomfortable and unnerving way to awaken.