Lola, Belle
Lola is the Queen of Williamsburg. Really, in a very real way. She has had the place sewn up for years over years. Once, whilst treading alcohol, I dipped heavily into the first year of Brooklyn Kickball. Boston John Toland roped me in to playing for the Headhunters and for four weeks in the middle of summer I found my place. Lola was there, overseeing all the carnage with that goddamn wry smile of hers. To this portrait all she could say was "I'm so embarrassed, it's the Daily News, not the Post. Don't dare show that photo to anyone."
3 comments:
ah, Lola Belle!
Lola seduced me one night when I had just broken my hand. She planted herself next to me at The Stinger Club and laid smooches on me all night until I was rendered completely defenseless.
We spent a few lovely days and nights together, though it was all quite PG-13. I will be forever indebted to her for opening my eyes to the glory of Ray Charles.
I went to Lola's house first in 1999 because she was throwing her monthly rent party and TK and the jazz crew were invited so I tagged along. We were blown away by the apartment. Years later I would go to the same apartment and experience a naive deja vu over the whole thing. The world is small and Lola is the queen.
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