Hunting High & Low at D-Edge

It was 80s night yesterday at D-Edge. We thought we'd be surrounded by lesbians since the flyer showed a dark-haired lady smoking a cigar; we thought that most of my friends would come because there was obviously nothing better to do in this city of 20 million people. Henrique & I were the first people to arrive. We sat across the street waiting for the club to open, drinking coffee from a Jabba the Hut lookalike lady. A young guy called Jacques ("my father named me after Jacques Cousteau because he is a biologist") from Porto Alegre joined us and we talked about which night was best for 80s music (he seemed to know a lot about São Paulo's gay nights, despite being straight.)

Inside, the dancefloor remained empty until a Depeche Mode song came on (Enjoy the Silence?). From then on, until 4am, we didn't stray too far from our dancing squares, nor did we need to fight for space (it never got full.) Henrique was immediatly hit on by a gay guy (the perils of going out with Henrique -- all the boys and girls flirt with him and the rest of us are left feeling like middle-aged ugly ducklings), and even Jacques asked me with a nervous laugh if we were a couple. At one point, I took a large and smelly dump, which must have been upsetting for the girl who went into the cabin afterwards to snort coke. Henrique couldn't let go of his bowels like me, so he spent the whole night leaving me alone to go fart in the corner.

I drank a vodka & redbull that left me jittery and down in one corner for a good half-hour. Out of nowhere, a friend of Henrique's showed up with her sister and brother-in-law; they had just come from the inauguration of another nightclub (which we might visit on Friday.) She was incredibly lovely and we shouted a lot at each other on the dancefloor. The music took a dark turn into dodgy techno territory and so we decided to split. We gave Jacques a car lift to the nearest metro station then drove home listening to A-ha.