Sadness, sadness, sadness!

She’s six-foot-three, has shoulder length reddish-purple hair, and black lipstick as shiny as the leather pants and knee-high leather boots (purchased from experience) she struts as she wanders gracefully past my brunch companion and I on a busy Sunday morning at this popular Capitol Hill breakfast establishment. My bisexual friend gives her an additional once-over as she walks towards the buffet, taking note of her swaying Rubenesque hips and the tight-fitting vinyl top that accentuates her contours.She returns to a corner table, and joins a man-boy of similar gothazon stature. He looks haggard. Underneath her faux porcelain face lie distinctive lines under her eyes. They’ve been up late.

Of course, when she’s not dining at this popular GLBT dining establishment, it’s likely she can be found at many familiar haunts. You might see her on Goth row, that familiar strip mall for the dark side between Pike and Pine on 11th, picking up a disc of fresh sadness from one of several groups that sport the word ‘Christ’ in their name, normally out of context within the word’s religious roots.

It’s Sunday today, so the previous night is easy to surmise. After a glass of cabernet at Barca, or a mixed-vodka drink at the Bad Juju, it’s time to go to the Vogue, to lament the playlist and the ineptness of the DJ, and then ponder the recent loss of industrial-goth night at the Catwalk, which finally succumbed to the dockers-and-nike-cap vibe of Pioneer Square. But first it’s time to make the rounds with the other representatives of angst, and size up the populace by their outfits, and to choose a possible partner for the evening, to complement the current open relationship with her boyfriend. She grows bored with this regular list of things to do, and strives for something more – wait, is that a new shade of Mac that woman is wearing?

It’s off to Machinewerks, where the normals and poseurs are shed, and restraint (prior or not) can be exercised in fullest fashion. A smoky, tiny chamber of darkness provides an ample recipe for the lace, PVC, velvet and leather ingredients inside. The only thing missing tonight is a clove cigarette and ample candlelight by which to read a passage from Byron. Oh, the pain…