In the last hours before the Senate passed the agreement to raise the debt ceiling, thus avoiding a crippling loan default, the Transom went to Kenmare—the only hotspot awake at the 3 a.m. dark night of the soul—to talk to a few experts about the potential credit cataclysm.
“We’re not gay,” said a man smoking outside.
No, we said, let’s talk about—“Yes we are gay!” another yelled—the debt ceiling legislation, do you think it’ll get passed tomorrow?
“I just got back to America, wait, what the fuck is going on?” the first man, who also had a mustache, said.
Their female companion, a brunette with a neat bob cut, chimed in.
“The debt crisis, it’s … you know what? This is a little rough. We’ve been drinking.”
The dance floor would provide more insightful commentary. Paul Sevigny had assumed his perch behind the bar, snug up in front of the liquor bottles, his feet dangling above the ground.
We yelled at him, his words were engulfed in noise. We said hello to Kenmare owner Nur Khan and impresario/restaurateur Angelo Bianchi (once feared for keeping the masses out of the Beatrice). But then, the Ramones came on and no one seemed to want to talk about the potential end of borrowing authority.
“Go for it! I want to see the fuckin’ economy crash,” said a man in a yellow T-shirt once we reached the sidewalk. “I hope it happens but it won’t.”
“Wait, what’s gonna happen?” a girl on his arm asked.
“Oh, we’ll get our credit downgraded and blah blah blah. Who gives a fuck? I don’t work in finance, I work in film, man.”
“I feel like it’s kind of a shitty thing to do, to default on loans,” said another kid outside.
“We’re all in this together man,” he mustered. “Somebody has to do something.”
Riding this glimmer of optimism, we approached a group of tall, very attractive women.
“Oh, I don’t know anything about that, I don’t live here,” one said. “We’re Australian,” she laughed.
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