staple of underfed homosexual dredge-queens trying to stay thin well past their prime and failing as they look more AIDS than Laids
I met this scrawny, jaded faery in Chicago that rented an old ballet studio; great layout with massive sq.footage, 12 ft. ceilings, multiple parlors, and mirrored hallways. How he paid for it as a interior house painter is beyond me. The point where I decided to remember the address was when I saw him sipping on an Ensure he tore from a sixpack and blandly talking about the last job - "3 months ago". I forgot to check back to see if it the place was available, but I know he's dead. I just know it. Somewhere on or just off of Halstead. Go find it!