This man is a lawbreaker.
It’s taken me several days, but I can finally break down and admit it: I’m a lawbreaker! Right up there with Britney Spears, Paris Hilton, and Scott Peterson! No, I didn’t kill a pregnant woman or wear shoes that clashed with my bag. I smoked! See, last Sunday night at the Hiro Ballroom, a cute boy was being all flirty and proffering a cigarette, so I impulsively took it, forgetting the no-smoking rule that’s long turned clubland into a cancer-free (and fun-free) zone. He lit me up and almost immediately, a burly black man approached, urging me to come with him. THAT sounded good too, but alas, it turned out the guy was security and wanted to escort me out of the place (or, for all I know, beat the shit out of me), obviously livid that I was competing with the smoke machines that had made the place into a blurry Brigadoon. I should have just offered him a puff, but I didn’t get a chance to, seeing as a sea of trannies and other club denizens chirped up to inform him, “But that’s Michael Musto from the Village Voice!” After confirming that by looking at my ID, he relented as I promised to go back to just candy cigarettes. And suddenly, after years of bitching about the special treatment given anyone of note, I LOVE the idea of celebrity justice, cough cough!