Hellbent
“If I picked up the pace I could swing by the gay bar on my way home. Rose was working the show, or at least I thought she was. I could crash it.
The pronouns were coming easier to me, with time. I never knew precisely what the etiquette was when dealing with a burly straight man who earns a living embracing his inner goddess. So the rule of thumb is that when she’s all dolled up for work, looking like a woman by design … she gets the feminine. When he’s hanging out in my loft in full-on dude-wear glory, well then. He’s a he.
It isn’t perfect, and I slip up occasionally, but it seems to work for now.
“Neighbors” was only a few blocks away, and I had to cross a loud section of the neighborhood to find it. The hill is what we like to call the “gayborhood,” but that’s not why it’s so damn swinging; it’s also the most densely occupied part of the city. The population is young, hip, queer, and moneyed … or made up of people trying to approximate three out of four.
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