Well, the next thing I knew I was on Melrose Avenue, and I was staring up at a sign that read The Windup. I had heard about this place, so it was interesting to kind of happen upon it.
Like I said before, a lot of gay bars cater to different crowds and from what I had heard, The Windup had an interesting owner. She’s supposedly a grandmother in her sixties, straight and very protective of “her boys.” My understanding, too, is that she frowns on overt homosexuals and treats them rudely until they take the hint and leave.
Always eager to see what L.A. has to offer, I figured I’d go in and see what it was all about. The first thing I noticed was how quiet the bar was. It had a respectable feel to it. It really could have been a regular corner bar like you see in the movies. There were no women. And as I had heard, there was nothing flamboyant about the place, including the customers themselves.
Not wanting to linger for too long, I approached the bar and took a seat next to a nice-looking guy who struck me as a bit conservative at first. He appeared to be in his mid-forties, but nevertheless still in good shape. He had a pleasant smile and nodded at me.
“What are you drinking?” he said.
And that’s when I saw her. The owner, I presumed. She was really looking me over, up and down.
Click Follow to receive emails when this author adds content on Bublish