That Kind of Night
It was the kind of night when I plopped down on the curb
and threw up on my shoes. It was the kind of light that made
everything seem like a movie set. The kind of town where
you navigated by the Cathedral. No one knew what “suburb”
meant—it was that kind of country. Theirs was the kind of shade
that never claimed to cool. Theirs was the kind of antique air
that tasted centuries old. It was the kind of wine that did you in.
They were the kind of people who appraised us with their eyes.
You were the kind of drunk whose friends refused to walk
on the same side of the street. I claimed you and your stupid grin.
You were the kind of towhead American who couldn’t disguise
yourself. I was that kind of American too. I shouldn’t talk.
It was the kind of fun that was desperate, an oblivion.
Ours were the kind of thirsting mouths that never said no.
These were the kind of nights with blurry ends. The kind of gay
bars that were hard to find and called “Don’t Tell Anyone.”
You were the kind of guy whose motto was “Let’s go.”
I was the kind of girl who never paused with her “OK.”
- The Wardrobe’s Best Dressed: Maybe the Body by Asa Drake - April 10, 2026
- The Wardrobe’s Best Dressed: Maybe the Body by Asa Drake - April 9, 2026
- The Wardrobe’s Best Dressed: Maybe the Body by Asa Drake - April 8, 2026



