No shorts allowed

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I could be boring and talk about Sydney so far - but it can be summed up with "harbor, Opera House, bridge, sun, surf, boats, beach, hot guys, skin cancer, and beer" + your imagination.

But instead let's talk about a friend I will name Lenny, a character I met through James.
James, Lenny, myself, and some other people meet up at Hugo's last night. Hugo's comprises two levels - one lower level bar which opens onto the rest of Kings Cross with open air behind couches, and an upper level which turns into as exclusive as you will get in Sydney's nightlife lounge.  We start the night downstairs with a few cocktails and plan on moving up later in the evening.
I am oblivious and involved in other things and people when Lenny jumps over our couch in his decent, bouncer-suitable pants and wanders off - who cares, he'll be back. 15 minutes later, back he is. In his collared shirt, and khaki cargo shorts that he definitely did not have in his pockets.
Apparently Lenny was looking for a little candy and found a guy on the street that needed pants to get into Hugo's - and Lenny ended up giving his Hugo's-approved pants away to this stranger in exchange.
Leaving us with a Lenny that couldn't get in - anywhere. 
After trying a few places over an hour of debate and an angry James, one guy insisted he had dark track pants in his car a few blocks away (as if these would help.) James and I waited in Favela and of course, got a text saying that they couldn't find any track pants after all. This is when we split up and head back to Hugo's without Lenny and his shorts.

The next night we celebrate Jimmy's birthday at Bondi Social and Lenny shows up in his new shorts, which apparently "fit perfectly!"

*** Tip to women: hottest male specimens in Sydney - go to Manly.
Something else I noticed: I feel like in Australia I look at people with a pink filter or something. Everybody here is burned, on the verge of burning, trying to burn, or very drunk.

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