Pardon me while I dress: it’s almost impossible to take any sort of high moral tone when you’ve got just a towel on.
Heard about Plato’s Retreat? Xtazy is more Xenophon’s retreat: a headlong sexual Dunkirk: as functional in decor as the tollbooth at interstate exit 19. There is nothing—take my word for it —less picturesque than three dozen middle-aged men in, well, diapers. At Xtazy they provide everyone with the same general-issue loincloth: a 28 short motel-surplus backwipe. The Farouk- fattish lawyer, Baby Huey I call him, is distressed: his towel looks like a sarong that’s-arong size. “Oh-er”—now Baby Huey has approached the hat-and-every-thing-else-check girl. “This won’t go around me. D’you have a safety pin?” Nope: what’s he expect for the $45 admission price?
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