Oh, what a cosmopolitan jamboree had we–a game night in the center of a park dappled with rowdy teenagers calling the cops on each other, a dirty couple making out ferociously in a haze of downers, and the wonderful six of us–laughing, happy, complete.
To the passing stranger, our game night activities could be seen as a cosmopolitan event—what with our matching pens, piles of notepaper and worldly discussions—but if said stranger really took the time to stop and listen, he would see that game nights are beautifully and simply just a raucous, vulgar, jamboree of epic proportions. We play, we vociferate and curse the overly affectionate couples making out behind us, and our great minds meld together in boisterous unity—and we wouldn’t have it any other way!
(Photo by Mike Schmornoff)
How interesting, thought Frederick during his nightly walk through the park, that a city of such cosmopolitan and sophisticated leanings as this one could produce such a bizarre admixture as this one. Over here, a game of pick-up football played by Nigerian refugees, over there, a gaggle of hobos leans and sways while doing their best to reek of gin and sweat, and over there – far, over on the periphery by the avenue – a veritable jamboree of maniacal laughter and overt perversion coming from that group of six sitting at filthy table.