"and the cars still passed and the drunks still passed and the night was clear and bright with stars and moon and a light breeze was blowing and you could hear the tugs in the harbor chugging and the deep ooooo from their whistles floated across the bay and rolled down 2nd Avenue and even the ferry's mooring winch could be heard, when it was quiet and still, clanging a ferry into the slip and it was a drag of a night"
Last Exit To Brooklyn
Hubert Selby, Jr.

Well, not quite a drag of a night but, definitely a strange one. From what I can remember of it anyway, which at this writing is exactly four weeks past the blessed event. An eternity in the beer-soaked world of hashing.

Trudging up a 45 degree ramp from the depths of the Brooklyn subway system only to find a rather sordid gathering of no more than 10 lost souls huddling in the entrance of the York St. stop on the F train. A nearly deserted section of waterfront factories and warehouses underneath the Manhattan Bridge. A more desolate area of Brooklyn in which to start a run one would be very hard pressed to find.

But our virgin hare Lara had indeed gone out of her way to not only start us but also to lead us on a tour of some of the more cheerier sections of the waterfront area. I noticed that even when she had the chance to run us right by the festive lights of the River Caf‚ and adjacent dockside views of Manhattan and the harbor she turned us away quickly so as not to detract from the desolation of our trail.

Finally we arrived at Last Exit. A fitting name for both the run and the seedy interior of the former Waterfront Ale House which resembled nothing so much as a Middle Eastern brothel. Blood red velvet drapes adorned the walls and the furniture was vintage 1950's Woolworth's. Odd wordless music filled the air and 5 or 6 drunks filled the barstools. I half expected the madame of the house to emerge through a doorway strung with beads, but she never materialized.

What did appear was falafels for everyone and tubs of hummus with pita bread. A pleasant change from pizza I must say. And very fitting for the d‚cor.

Other than that, my memory is somewhat fuzzy. We had two visiting hashers from Texas, one who talked and one who didn't. We had a hasher from Long Beach, CA, who claimed she had moved to NYC and was therefore not a virgin but, who really cares. At one point Stephen accused Fluffy of having a fat ass which he loudly denied. Fluffy in turn claimed that he had heard that Stephen has a warm seat. I didn't catch much more than that and I certainly didn't want to.

Our young virgin hare Lara of course kept up her recent custom of remaining completely separate from the other hashers at the On In and talked only to Schnipper and a female friend she had imported for the night. She consented to mingle among us only when prodded into a down down and then moved quickly away. It must be the smell or something.

Anyway, a fine job Lara on your maiden trail and a new On In is always welcome.

ON ON

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