The Lux
After having checked out a number of other places we ended up in the Lux in Hoxton Square. The place was rammed and we were wasted. Double dark rums and coke were ordered and consumed in considerable amounts. Many beautiful women and trendy guys doing their ‘Hoxton’ thing, but the vibe was good and it was smiles all round.
The Professor finally managed to get a table, near the back section with the massive panorama window facing the street. The music was really loud and there were people everywhere but we didn’t mind, we got a seat and cooled down. The place seemed to be open forever, and a constant stream of people brushed sweatily against each other in the bar. It must have been 30 degrees in there. The Professor hadn’t been waiting time. He’d been trying to establish something with a Japanese waitress, who surprisingly kept serving our table amidst all the other waiting punters. Nothing to with the Professors generous tips I suspect.
As darkness fell outside, things got weird. Properly tanked up by this stage, the Professor decided to crush up an Ecstasy pill right there on the table. We must have been surrounded by 50-60 people all of whom could essentially see exactly what was going on. Unperturbed, we both snorted a massive line. Everyone instantly pretended not to have seen anything, and the episode goes unpunished. More drinks, more tips, then more MDMA. Another pill crushed and snorted. Evening was getting better and better. New move; start drawing on the table. Quite casually the Professor began drawing on the white tabletop surface with a massive ink marker. Every time the waitress came for another round of mixed doubles we had added more and stupid and grotesque stuff to the table. It had become weird art piece in black and white with crumbs of powder and patches of rum. Even at this point, people noticed, and then pretended they hadn’t. We played to this, pretending to be famous (what for was never clear, but this was Hoxton, and potentially everyone was someone famous, usually of dubious character).
The MDMA and rum screaming through my body accelerated things suddenly. The waitress returned one last time, only to warn us that it would probably best if we left, like now. Her boss was, not surprisingly, unhappy and we should leave now. Calmly (given the situation) we stood up, and made a sleek escape for the door by the panoramic window, away from bouncers, managers and wankers. AS we ascended the stair toward the door the gorillas started moving for us. We managed to get outside, and they stop chase, and return to the front door. In some demented form of retort, the professor ran to the panoramic window, and in front of puzzled punters writes ‘go fuck yourself’ on the glass with his marker. We then legged it very quickly towards Old Street, crowds, off licences. I managed once glance back and noticed that the Professor misspelled the entire sentence.
The Professor finally managed to get a table, near the back section with the massive panorama window facing the street. The music was really loud and there were people everywhere but we didn’t mind, we got a seat and cooled down. The place seemed to be open forever, and a constant stream of people brushed sweatily against each other in the bar. It must have been 30 degrees in there. The Professor hadn’t been waiting time. He’d been trying to establish something with a Japanese waitress, who surprisingly kept serving our table amidst all the other waiting punters. Nothing to with the Professors generous tips I suspect.
As darkness fell outside, things got weird. Properly tanked up by this stage, the Professor decided to crush up an Ecstasy pill right there on the table. We must have been surrounded by 50-60 people all of whom could essentially see exactly what was going on. Unperturbed, we both snorted a massive line. Everyone instantly pretended not to have seen anything, and the episode goes unpunished. More drinks, more tips, then more MDMA. Another pill crushed and snorted. Evening was getting better and better. New move; start drawing on the table. Quite casually the Professor began drawing on the white tabletop surface with a massive ink marker. Every time the waitress came for another round of mixed doubles we had added more and stupid and grotesque stuff to the table. It had become weird art piece in black and white with crumbs of powder and patches of rum. Even at this point, people noticed, and then pretended they hadn’t. We played to this, pretending to be famous (what for was never clear, but this was Hoxton, and potentially everyone was someone famous, usually of dubious character).
The MDMA and rum screaming through my body accelerated things suddenly. The waitress returned one last time, only to warn us that it would probably best if we left, like now. Her boss was, not surprisingly, unhappy and we should leave now. Calmly (given the situation) we stood up, and made a sleek escape for the door by the panoramic window, away from bouncers, managers and wankers. AS we ascended the stair toward the door the gorillas started moving for us. We managed to get outside, and they stop chase, and return to the front door. In some demented form of retort, the professor ran to the panoramic window, and in front of puzzled punters writes ‘go fuck yourself’ on the glass with his marker. We then legged it very quickly towards Old Street, crowds, off licences. I managed once glance back and noticed that the Professor misspelled the entire sentence.
posted by tseuq at 5/18/2005 10:48:00 pm
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