Lemme Tell You Someding...

Sarah, the bathroom attendant at Roxy, died this weekend. She collapsed shortly before 10 p.m. and was found on the ladies' room floor. Paramedics were able to get her breathing briefly, and then she was gone. They carried her body out, roped off the bathroom, and opened up for business.
I've known Sarah for years. For countless weekends she was the first person I went to see upon arrival at the club. She always knew precisely how long it had been since I was last in the club, and would greet me with the inevitable "Bitch, where you been?" She'd ask me to watch the bathroom while she went out for a smoke. I had breakfast with her and Valentina last New Year's at 5 a.m. She hated the straight crowds, and always knew the gossip long before anyone else. She loved the job. She loved the music. She loved the regulars and the people who knew her.

The last time I saw her, she showed me pictures of her 10-month-old granddaughter, of whom she had just won custody. She beamed with pride over the baby, stubbed out her Newport, and turned to hand a paper towel to some tweaked out queen.