Home Town Bar

It's Friday night. I can count the number of people in the bar on two hands. If I had come with friends we would have increased the number of patrons present by half. But I am alone. The bar still seems empty.

A rotund drunk thirty-something homo, still in his red 'Pet-smart' uniform, approaches me at the bar. "Let me introduce you to my friends," he slurs. "You look alone and shy. And I want to make sure you have a fun night." I am alone with nothing or no one better. I join him and his friends at their table.

Her name is Jamie and she is a lesbian. It is only stereotypical she is an accountant for C.A.A. She is friendly and non-threatening so I strike up a conversation. We are interrupted by a powerful forty-something prairie lesbian (short hair, dyed auburn, leather jacket and cowboy boots with striking maroon lipstick). "I really like the decorations", Dani mentions motioning to the Dollar-store "HAPPY NEW YEARS" signage and the meager spattering of balloons clumsily taped to the ceiling. "It really makes a difference", the power lesbian concurs. Their friendly demeanor makes up for their lack lustre decorating skills.

Only three people are grooving on the dance floor. Sean is one of them; a member of my rotund friend's circle of companions. He is a faggy bottom; you know the type. His shirt is undone to reveal a tight flat muscled stomach. He wears lip balms marketed toward women. No matter how awkward or inappropriate it is, he is bending over like an MTV booty dancer despite how there are obviously no cameras filming his small twinky ass. Though I would never be as outrageous as he is, we are not that different. I want to be the object of attention and affection and admiration as much as he does. I am just not as brave as he.

Here I am. Alone at the bar on a Friday night with only a fat petstore employee, tragically unstylish lesbians, and an attentioning seeking faggot for company. This is the gay bar in the city where I grew up. Am I home?