There was a lot of kinetic energy between those walls - before the pandemic forced their doors to close - but it was fueled by those relationships. But over the past decade, my time at the bars - and the coffee shops and the clubs and the warehouses and the bathhouses and the house parties and the dimly lit cafes spread across Texas, New Orleans, Japan and wherever else - was largely defined by the folks I met there, who became comrades for the evening, or for the rest of my life, whether we were at Ripcord or Blur or Rain or Grand Slam or Golden Ball or Charlies or Oz or Good Friends or Rawhide or Phoenix. Without a physical nexus at which to gather, we’ve sort of scattered.
LATELY, I’VE BEEN checking in on the friends I’ve made in queer spaces.
