Love note to a street hustler queen.

Oh for the love of God.

Felicia just text messaged me. We exchanged phone numbers a long time back; I don't remember why, quite honestly, except she's always flirted with me. So now I get to pay ten cents to read her message asking me if I'm asleep and telling me to call her if I can, complete with winky frowny smiley, which I'm not sure exactly how to read, except that maybe she's trying for the subtle complexity of face-to-face in text, hoping that something will "click" in my mind between the semicolon, caret, and opening parenthesis.

Met her on the night of the bar raids at Foxes where we were all holed up against the straight world of the APD Vice Squad on its rounds shutting all the fag bars, one by one. Siege mentality set in and when the night was finally almost over and we'd made it through without getting shut down -- the only bar not closed with bartenders taken away in handcuffs -- the euphoria was simply overwhelming. Quite like New Years' Eve, actually. She kissed me on the lips and I bought her some lace panties for five dollars from some street person selling stuff because I was drunk and she was utterly charming: a flawless young queen and tough-as-nails street hustler, standing synechdochically in my mind at that time as the cornerstone of gay society. She did her makeup right in front of me and had me positively hypnotized as I watched ler lip sync "Fascinated" just for me.

Sorry, Felicia, man, I love ya but I'm probably not into whatever you're wanting to do right now; for some reason sitting around over cups of coffee and working through life's problems doesn't strike me as being it. The neighbourhood's awash in drugs right now and so it's really no surprise that everybody's up and reaching out, out, out in desperation to anyone who might have money at this hour of night. Maybe you're really only lonely and want someone to talk to, and if so, I'm really sorry if I let you down in that. Forgive me, please, for assuming the worst; it's for my own protection so that I can come tomorrow and protect everyone inside the bar, including you. I've had enough drama for one evening, and the night to come promises only more, more, and still more. I'm far too busy pretending to be asleep while writing all about you to the world, right now.

I hope to see you tomorow night, looking completely fabulous and scandalizing everyone by your mere presence in whatever far too daring thing you choose to wear. There you can flirt with me and show the most outrageous scorn at my cruel and heartless ignorance of your text message as I stand watch beside the door and absolutely won't be moved: the one that got away. You had me hook line and sinker, and still amaze me. But admiration for you and your kind means more to me than anything we might do outside the bar, ever. There, we'll be in our proper roles, and can play our parts for those who watch the still ongoing story, endless variations on a single theme, each night.