#fr.event001

“I’m startin’ to think about quittin’ my day job,” Sio mused as he wiped his thin brush clean of face-paint. Inspecting it for , he rearranged the face-paints so that it was more aesthetically pleasing to the eye — Feng Shui and such. “Makeup’s just a stepping stone to my true calling: painting,” he joked, knowing at the pit of his soul that he’d never give up working for Eraserhead. “It’s not so different, anyway. Paint’s just a lil’ thicker, but either way you’re still transforming a blank canvas. Making it to something beautiful. But you haven’t been waiting to hear my pitch at job interviews, huh?” He shakes his head to resist falling back into his pensive mood. These customers have heard enough of his rambling today. “What’ll it be for you? My rainbow-painting muscle’s been flexed all day but I’m open to expanding my horizons.”

Date: June 29th, Early evening

Nora set up her small folding table close to the staircase entrance, on the opposite side of the roof deck where the freestanding movie screen was showing a cheerleader fly through  a pastel blue  sky. The title screen of But I’m A Cheerleader faded in as  small cheers rippled across  the crowd. A  small  smile played across her face at the sound as she reached into the reusable  whole  foods bag sitting  next to her feet,  pulling out a large rectangular tupperware. Placing it gently on the table, she snapped off  the lid to  reveal  an  array  of baked  goods, all iced in  neon and  pastel rainbow  flair.  “Magic brownies!” She called out brightly to the crowd, “Taste and experience the rainbow! None  magic items also available!” 

It’s Method Burger’s very first Speed Social, and everyone’s as nervous as you are. Or maybe you’re not nervous; you’re confident that you’re manifesting whatever relationship you’re looking for, or that you’ve been dragged along by your best friend. But don’t worry, there’s someone out there for anyone, in whatever form you need them to be. You know?

 Check under the cut for matches!

At the very least, Pride in Crown Heights was a local affair— unlike in upper parts of Brooklyn, closer to the bridge (and across the bridge, forget about it), where the parades were so congested with out-of-state visitors berserkly waving their rainbow flags, it was like being in the jubilant masses hailing the return of some very gay monarch. True to his own brand, Julius was a vocal critic of that kind of Pride. All that pomp and circumstance. The way it smacked of voyeurism and commercialization, the blurring of so many identities under a one-size-fits-all rainbow. The colorful marketing and cheap sentimentality. The pandering. But here in Crown Heights, there was less of that; the feel was more like a neighborhood block party, with kids running through the fountains and muddying their colorful facepaint, rollerbladers coasting by while food carts filled the air with the fatty crackle of hamburgers and vegan patties. Still overcrowded— and still too much for his taste, on the rainbow flag-waving front— but there was less intrusion from big-name corporations, less tourists on safari. 

“I love crafty shit,” Leo said cheerfully, the mini-pair of scissors he was using to trim the stems off of his little collection of flowers almost comically small in his hands. He looked again at the pretty blue baby’s breath, and carefully -- so, so carefully -- snipped another half an inch from the stem. “Imagine if I was good at it, though. That would be an insane.” With a smile, Leo looked up at the person sitting beside him, eyes conveying a vulnerable kind of helplessness that he swore wasn’t manipulative when he really genuine was helpless most of the time. “Can you wear mine when it’s done? I’d be so depressed wearing one I made for myself, but something tells me I’m not about to have people scrambling for it.”