Wednesday, October 13, 2010

(Not Actually) Broads on Broad

Yes, Broad Ave. really is the center of the universe—or at least a very lively and entertaining place for a daily commute: dancing drunks, zigging cars, R&B legends, and...

I was driving home from work on Broad the other day, just about to reach Tulane Avenue* (almost the exact same place as the Toussaint-sighting). My attention was caught by the sight of four barely-clad buttocks ba-dumping across the street in front of me (two butts; four buttocks). My brain said: Whoah, buttocks! A millisecond later my brain said: Whoah, tranny-buttocks! Yes, the four buttocks belonged to two highly coiffed gents in very short dresses (and even shorter underthingies).

As I waited at the light, a twenty-something guy in a hotel uniform crossed the street, openly gawking. When he saw me similarly gawking, he veered out of his way over to me and, smiling knowingly, blurted, "Those are dudes!"

I love how he just couldn't stand possibly being the sole possessor of this information, how he just needed to share.

That... that... dude looks like a lady. That... that...

* I think "Tulane and Broad" would make a good splendor-and-misery-of-life Dickensian cable-drama: the jail, the criminal courts, the jury lounge, the bail bondsmen, the discount market; the bus stop, the ever-present homeless guy; further up, the gumbo shop, the Latin grocery (and we could weave in subplots from even further afield: the wheeler-dealer Creole stretch through the 7th Ward where just the other day I saw Cao, the world's smallest congressman, hustling for votes outside the-restaurant-formerly-known-as-Pampy's).

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