One of my favorite nights at Pieces, my gay home away from home at 8-Christopher Street, is Post Office Thursdays, whereby they stick a number on you as you enter, as if you were a horse, and you proceed to field anonymous love notes from the other patrons while also scribbling your thoughts back to their fine selves. It’s like the New York postal system except way more efficient and without cutbacks! The kind of notes I generally get are irate items like “What the fuck are YOU doing here?” but I still consider that a tad romantic and find it comforting to snuggle up with all the missives when I go home alone (though I often wake up with paper cuts all over my face).
The evening’s host is the charming Thiago, who–after every block of DJ music–announces which patrons have gotten notes. prompting a horny stampede to his marvelous mailbox. When you get there, you often find HE’S the one who’s written the notes–and even though that’s a complete charity fuck designed to stroke your ego and help you get some messaging momentum going, it totally counts!