Burger Queen
I stopped by the Burger King on 54th Street and picked up a Whopper just because it seemed hilarious to me that New Yorkers eat food from that particular fast food joint.
The smell of hot grease brought back memories.
I remember when the Burger King was a theater-- a movie theater that showed nothing but gay porn movies on the big screen, twenty-four hours a day.
Mostly old men frequented the place, although on Friday nights, it was the place to be.
I picked off the pickles from my huge burger and remembered what the old stomping ground was once like.
Sesame seeds fell onto the table and I brushed them onto the floor as I reminisced about those guys who paid $10 at the front door for a glimpse of real motion pictures and got a little more than what they bargained for.
All the bath houses, with the exception of Mt. Morris in Harlem were closed down, and “The New David” theatre was one of only a handful of places where popper sniffing queers could go to line up at glory holes in the early Nineties.
My lover and I decided to see a movie one evening at the New David, just for kicks.
We were shit faced and ventured into all the dark, lonely corridors of the place, getting a glimpse of what gay life was like before HIV started showing up in all those Happy Meals.
They were still fisting as if they were in a boxing match.
I bit into my Whopper and spit out the stale bun and rubber like beef patty as I suddenly remembered how the place once smelled.
I had no business eating in there even though they did clean the place up.
An old man with white hair approached my lover and I and offered us the strangest gift the night we went to the New David.
He gave us little cardboard boxes with Chicklets gum inside.
“I own the company,” he said to us.
“I love this gum,” I said to him while brushing his cold lonely hand from my crotch.
“Do you really think he owns the chewing gum factory?” my lover inquired as we left the place blowing bubbles.
“I bet he does. Why else would an old man give away candy to young men like us inside a gay porn theatre?”
“At least they don’t sell popcorn there,” he said as we jumped in a taxi and rushed home.
The smell of hot grease brought back memories.
I remember when the Burger King was a theater-- a movie theater that showed nothing but gay porn movies on the big screen, twenty-four hours a day.
Mostly old men frequented the place, although on Friday nights, it was the place to be.
I picked off the pickles from my huge burger and remembered what the old stomping ground was once like.
Sesame seeds fell onto the table and I brushed them onto the floor as I reminisced about those guys who paid $10 at the front door for a glimpse of real motion pictures and got a little more than what they bargained for.
All the bath houses, with the exception of Mt. Morris in Harlem were closed down, and “The New David” theatre was one of only a handful of places where popper sniffing queers could go to line up at glory holes in the early Nineties.
My lover and I decided to see a movie one evening at the New David, just for kicks.
We were shit faced and ventured into all the dark, lonely corridors of the place, getting a glimpse of what gay life was like before HIV started showing up in all those Happy Meals.
They were still fisting as if they were in a boxing match.
I bit into my Whopper and spit out the stale bun and rubber like beef patty as I suddenly remembered how the place once smelled.
I had no business eating in there even though they did clean the place up.
An old man with white hair approached my lover and I and offered us the strangest gift the night we went to the New David.
He gave us little cardboard boxes with Chicklets gum inside.
“I own the company,” he said to us.
“I love this gum,” I said to him while brushing his cold lonely hand from my crotch.
“Do you really think he owns the chewing gum factory?” my lover inquired as we left the place blowing bubbles.
“I bet he does. Why else would an old man give away candy to young men like us inside a gay porn theatre?”
“At least they don’t sell popcorn there,” he said as we jumped in a taxi and rushed home.
posted by Charles George Taylor at
9:45 AM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
Subscribe to Post Comments [Atom]
<< Home