Eventually I found myself inside a bar. The TVs were soundless and tuned to the right propaganda channels. I sat down beside a woman who was no longer presenting as a man and peeled the mask off of my face. She had a masculine jawline and an Adam’s apple, and the shadows did her little favors. I found myself staring at the thick black hairs on her forearm until I realized she was looking at me. A gave the faintest smile—the smile of a murderer, perhaps—and then turned away as though the variety of liquor stacked against the wall had my sudden undivided attention. I looked again out of the corner of my eye and saw that she still stared at me. Well fuck I thought. Sometimes people felt they were owed a conversation.
No comments:
Post a Comment