I Needed Last Night
"Backrooms" left me afraid to be alone in my apartment, so I went to EX'S PRIDE at Honey's instead.
Thursday, June 25 2026
Locations: Honey’s / EX’S PRIDE
DJs: Alejandra Sabillón, k.tea
N and I walked out of the cinema disoriented after watching Backrooms — like we’d just woken up from a long nap and didn’t know what time it was or who we were. I was grateful, then, that I’d bought a ticket to Officially Ex’s EX’S PRIDE party at Honey’s. The thought of sitting at home alone, slowly turning every corner in my apartment and seeing every door as a portal to some terrible, liminal place freaked me out. I love horror, it’s my favorite genre, but I’m kind of easily affected.
On the train, N and I tried to decode what we just watched. I informed her I’d have a sigh of relief at this party, a couple of cocktails to ease the post-horror dizziness. Her phone was at 3% — but we made a plan for her to go home, charge up and eat and get ready, and meet me at Honey’s. She got off at Montrose and I got off at Jefferson, jeans hanging low on my hips, cheekbones bronzed.
I arrived 15 minutes after the event started; already thirty-some people waiting in line. I’d heard of the party from a new, gorgeous acquaintance named O, and her partner. O said the party would be filled with good-looking, chic dykes — they were right. I was thrilled to smell high-quality perfume, see glossed lips catching the light, heels clicking and button downs that were mostly unbuttoned. I always feel this rush of excitement in queer spaces, like I’m home, and can be the best version of myself, who also happens to be the hottest version of myself.
I sat at the bar, which had a foggy window peeking out onto the indoor dancefloor, which was empty. The DJ was going hard though: I wiggled my shoulders and moved my hips in my seat while I waited for the hot bartender to make my mezcal negroni. While I waited for N to arrive, I watched others arrive, enthralled by their outfits: a black bikini top with metal hardware, low rise jorts, and a racing jacket; a knit tank top dipped in silver and leather jeans; and standing next to me, a gorgeous blonde with a shimmery top, covered in large sequins, held together by delicate strings on either side of the top. I complimented her on her outfit and we talked about the party — how we’d never been to an Ex’s event, how she’d never been to Honey’s, how an acquaintance once threw a “10 Year Anniversary” party for her 10 years of living in NYC. I felt like a man because I was getting turned on just by talking to her. I pointed her in the direction of the bathroom when she asked, and she said she’d see me later, and I informed N via text of the exchange.
N arrived just a few minutes later, greeting me by the bar. I realized a woman had been standing there, waiting for a drink, and the excitement of seeing my friend had pushed her out of the way. I informed the bartender to take her drink order first. While she did that, I laid eyes on a woman with a perfect face, wearing a blue button down with her hair tied back. She reminded me of 070 Shake, which is to say I was very attracted to her. We chatted about soccer — Ecuador beat Germany 2-1, which was incredible, and Turkey beat the USA. We promised to run into each other later that night — her friends wanted to go upstairs.
When it was time for N and I to grab our drinks, the bartender informed us the woman behind us had paid.
N and I found her and thanked her — let’s call her W. An executive assistant to an investment banker and from Manhattan, I found her to be beautiful and with sturdy convictions, and a wonderful sense of humor. I told her I was excited to see 2 of the DJs in particular, and we went up to the rooftop to dance.
Reggaeton, Latin house, it doesn’t get better than that. Alejandra Sabillón played Dansa by Klassik Frescobar and the mezcal negroni was hitting. N, W and I were up at the front shaking our hips and my knees were bent, ass inches from the floor. I watched a woman walk by with a cigarette in hand. I asked her for one and she informed me she rolled it. I followed her to a corner of the rooftop and she rolled it swiftly while she answered some of my questions. Name’s E, lives in Bed-Stuy, has picked up Djing after being a semi-famous child DJ on MTV.
“What?”
“Yeah, I played with some hip-hop legends…” she was rather shy and humble. She dropped some names I didn’t recognize but I believed her. I took her email down and said I’d like to interview her.
I returned to the dancefloor in time for Enur’s Calabria 2007. There’s a line to get onto the rooftop, slowly getting packed and W and N and I thanked our stars for getting here as early as we did. We went downstairs, still, out of curiosity — N grabbed us another mezcal-based drink — but the music wasn’t hitting the way we want it to, although the tracks were solid and the DJ seemed to be confidently transitioning in between them. We’re in the mood for Latin music, is all.
Upstairs, I ran into a woman I went on a date with once, but who I didn’t text ever again after that despite a hot makeout session outside of the wine bar we drank 2 glasses at. She had told me at the beginning of the date she had plans afterwards, but I guess she liked me enough to reveal she actually didn’t have plans and wanted to keep spending the evening with me. I didn’t appreciate this — commit to a 2 hour date if you want to be a person with boundaries, don’t make spur-of-the-moment decisions based on how well the date goes! — so I remember making a decision not to text her. I guess she remembered that because she said hello to me awkwardly and I realized she was with a woman who might e her girlfriend, and I say this not to be mean but to be honest: I was waaaay hotter and better-dressed than her, not to mention not white. Minutes later I feel someone pushing up against me and it’s them, making out quite furiously. I didn’t realize someone could hold a grudge for that long, but I do admit I’ve done some interesting things after no-text-backs.
I started to yawn and get hiccups. W wagged her finger at me and demanded I purchase another drink, so I did. A mezcal negroni for N and a mezcal soda for myself. It takes only fifteen minutes. All of this gets written off my taxes, thanks to this Substack.
W, N and I made some new friends. A group of friendly, cool women who like to dance. k.tea came on for her set and started to play soulful mixes, including multiple Beyonce tracks, and when Pyramids by Frank Ocean came on the whole rooftop was vibing. I’ve never been to a party with men that has ever emitted the kind of beautiful, strong, ethereal energy emanating from that rooftop last night.
O informed me that she and her partner were arriving. When I saw them, I was floored by how stylish they were, and was reminded of how good they smell. O asked N if she’s gay, N declared she is, and I know there’s no need to mention the boyfriend — boyfriends are irrelevant here!
Tacos are being sold on the rooftop. The smell can no longer be ignored. N and I, fully tipsy, managed to get through the crowd to the woman selling the tacos. We scarfed them down, spicy grease dripping down my fingers and burning my cuticles. It was too delicious to stop. was fully satisfied and so is N. And considering I was three drinks deep at that point, I know it’s time to go home.
W wanted to leave too — kismet. N and I waited for her downstairs while she used the bathroom, and I saw the woman from earlier — 070 Shake with her friends. We kept making eyes at each other but I knew it was my move. So I went up to her. I got her number, not her Instagram. She was even prettier and sweeter than I remembered before. I squeal with W and N on the walk to the subway, where N then catches her Uber.
W and I sat on the train, my stop before hers, and talked about Ariana Grande and Phoebe Bridgers and how W will see Hayley Williams live in concert soon. Man, I made a fucking friend last night.
When I transferred to the G, and then got off the G, a woman’s mason jar fell from her backpack and dropped onto the subway platform right as we exited. She apologized profusely and asked me if I’m okay. I am! I wanted to tell her something about the glass breaking feeling like a good omen, a sign of something new beginning, a signal of good luck — but I kept the thought to myself and walked home, holding onto the thought for dear life. I needed last night.