Last night, I kept company with pirates and goths. The pirates fed me pinto beans and rice and the goths took me to an industrial nightclub called Das Bunker. I had never seen so many varying shades of black as I did at Das Bunker. Stripes and hardware such as oversized safety pins, zippers and grommets were also popular with the pale-faced nightcrawlers who swayed, jumped and did kung-fu moves to Combicrist, My Life with Thrill Kill Cult, Danzig and other "noise" artists. I felt a little too clean in my Ferragamo ankle boots and dark denim Bermuda shorts. But at least my T-shirt had gold foil printing that glimmered just as brightly as the goths' hardware did under the black light on the dance floor. After the bartenders' last call and some hours of gawking, giggling and grooving, my trio of goths and I scarfed down an early breakfast at a 24-hour diner called Dolores on the Westside. Even though there were plenty of large tables in the front of the restaurant, the white-haired hostess seated us in the back room, where we couldn't be seen through the windows. Perhaps she worried that the goths would scare away potential patrons at 3 in the morning. Oh, well. From our plush green banquette our party stared at the TV that was broadcasting the absurd time-travel movie "Running Man" starring California's current governor.
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