It’s just another Thursday night in South Boston.
Be calm, Reader, all is well. Or is it?
Local bars like the Boston Beer Garden and the Playwright are overstuffed with hard-drinking twenty- and thirtysomethings, mostly locals and the new crop of Southie transplants looking for a hookup.In case you forgot what an ALTERNATIVE weekly we are, we threw some sex in.
The men are knuckling up to the bar, eyeing deals on pitchers of Miller Lite or Budweiser, scoping out prime real estate in front of a flat-screen TV to watch their favorite Boston sports team, and maybe even getting some love from one of the female hotties prancing around in skin-tight denim and low-cut halter tops.
More sex. More aimless verbiage. This is beginning to feel ominous.
The scene is similar at the Junction, another popular local watering hole. There’s a stench of beer and cologne in the air, pint glasses are being filled by the dozen, and the athletic attire that is the unofficial after-work uniform of the Southie male is everywhere in sight. But something seems off in this prototypical pub in the heart of historically xenophobic South Boston.
Maybe it’s this: almost every guy in the Junction tonight is gay.
KABLOOM! KABLAM! Mind: FUCKING BLOWN! IT CANNOT BEEEEEEEEE!
My Southie bawnanraised ex-girlfriend is going to have a goddamn field day with this.
Thanks to expert spotters Adam and Julia for finding this splendid specimen.