I was striding down Broadway at a great rate, Gentle Reader. I had just left the Trans Pride event; the evening was growing dark and colder, and I was eager to drop my parasol off at Mr. Darling’s apartment, and perhaps pre-game a little. I had no definite plans for the evening, but I was sure that I could find some bastion of community that would feel comfortable for the night. I was wrapped in rapt contemplation, and nearly stumbled over the dark-haired woman in the Hawaiian-print dress leaning on the bike rack. It was Brianna Herrera, who I knew a lifetime ago, and haven’t seen since.
Mutually surprised, we caught up briefly – a short synopsis of the years since we’d last seen one another. There was a pregnant pause – there often is, in such situations, where one wants to get on, but one also wants to reconnect – a deciding moment, where things can go one of two ways – but the moment passed. We were making our goodbyes, and then I asked her “Where do you think is going to be the best place to hit tonight for Pride?” Brianna suggested Purr, and then we split ways.
I had some options, and I had to think them through. I am not that stellar a navigatrix, even sober – unless I’m in a forest setting, you understand. My phone, Diogenes, also refuses to help – that is, any map app you care to name goes haywire if I attempt to actually use it. This will become important later. After regrouping and filling my charming gold beadwork clutch full of supplies for the evening, I set out, determined to just ask directions of the crowd around me. After all, it was Pride on Capitol Hill, and surely someone would know how to get me places, right? It’s always worked before.
It did not work this time.
For three hours, I wandered the Hill – well, the residential areas that surround the main bit. I could always tell when I wandered out of the primary area, because by simply crossing the street the attitude of passers-by went from revelry to disapproval – I was wearing my trademark hat and divorce pants, you know. I just tried to keep the sound of the crowd in mind and head towards that, and I’d be amongst friends again; once there, I’d ask directions, and head off on another jaunt another wrong way. Quite late, I stumbled upon the Mercury, where I happen to be a member; at least I knew how to navigate from there, so I settled down inside.
The Merc, you know, is a private goth club. It’s not a LGBTQIA establishment, but they’re friendly, and they usually have Pride events. Nonetheless, it was dead as blazes that night. Still, I feel safe being there on my own, so I stayed until it was time to meet Darling’s roommate to grab the keys and go back home for the night. I’ll leave you here, Gentle Reader; as loathe as I am to extend this re-cap to three parts, it just can’t be avoided. Cheers, mes amis!