changes at the stoop
There's a place where we hang out when it's too early for the convention center, when we've got nothing to do. It's a small, forgotten street by a video store in an old Chevrolet dealership, periodically papered with big ads - for horror movies or chewing gum. It's only a block long. Most people who turn onto it immediately turn around in the middle of its single block. There is an apartment building for youth.
One of them, I called him Tweaky-boy, would always come out making wild gestures with his hands. Very gay, shoulder length hair. I was sure he was on speed. Now I'm not.
Today, I saw him in tight blue jeans and a black knit top with slit sleeves. First I noticed his shapely thighs and hips. Then I saw his budding breasts and I knew that he was transitioning. I imagined the architecture of a male brain, raised with the I beams of narcissism, then drowned in estrogen. I thought about how confusing that might be. Adventurers, cosmonauts, explorers, sure. Voices in our heads. And now this.
One of them, I called him Tweaky-boy, would always come out making wild gestures with his hands. Very gay, shoulder length hair. I was sure he was on speed. Now I'm not.
Today, I saw him in tight blue jeans and a black knit top with slit sleeves. First I noticed his shapely thighs and hips. Then I saw his budding breasts and I knew that he was transitioning. I imagined the architecture of a male brain, raised with the I beams of narcissism, then drowned in estrogen. I thought about how confusing that might be. Adventurers, cosmonauts, explorers, sure. Voices in our heads. And now this.