there were three bars, the run,
the diamond, and the stage door.
omaha’s queer bars. the run and
diamond were blue collar. the
stage door was the best disco
between chicago and denver.
when the queens were high
enough and drunk enough, we
kissed the boyfriends goodbye,
helped them with their furs and
pushed them out the door. it
was never soon enough. their
religion was dancing. we had to
be more profound. we had the
place to ourselves. the two of us,
drinking scotch, eating white
crosses and smoking good weed.
we played the clash, lou reed,
iggy pop, and a lot of dylan and
bowie on the stereo. we connected.
it was our space oddity for three and
a half hours. we never kissed and
never got naked. we were
heroes that lived outside the law.
something was happening and we
weren’t sure what it was. young
americans looking for a way out.
that was how it was in the
beginning. since then, things have
changed, but to this day he’s
still my only dance partner.