Giving credit where it’s…
Another story of gay Pennsylvania…
To curb my anxiety about being so straight and such so often, I’m at the gay bar again the night after the racist remarks (see next post down). The bar is in Moosic, which is as unlikely a place as any for a gay bar. It seems to be a decidedly residential area with a big flamboyat gay bar nestled into the houses.
Upon entering, I immediately go to the bar and order a Malibu and Pineapple. My drinking strategy in Pennsylvania is drink early and stop early, as I never really learned to control my buzz for driving home. In San Francisco, I tend to walk to the bars, so… it’s not an issue.
At both bars, I get the feeling that I was harsh to judge the area in the past. Or at least to judge against something it could never be. As much as I live in a huge gay ghetto now, there was something charming and communal about being out there. Everyone seemed to know everyone, and a lot of people crossed over through their cliques to welcome others in a way that seemed strange, with preppies welcoming the, err, lumberjacks or whatever that look was supposed to be. In any event, I was feeling as though I misjudged the area unfairly, and as much as I still don’t want to live there, there was something unique and special about it.
Then I saw him.
Short black button-down shirt. Tight on the biceps.
Faux-hawk, perfect.
He was perfectly put together, but not overly so. Just simple and elegant.
I somehow (immediately) end up next to him at the railing overlooking the dance floor.
With a closer look, it is even clearer. This boy would fit in at any club in the Castro. The look is exquisite, the hair, the bone structure of his face, his aloof yet personable smile. there you go, Mr. Big City. You’re in MOOSIC and finding a stunning boy who could be dropped into any club in San Francisco and fit in perfectly, time to get over your big-city bullshit…
I go to play the "out of towner" card again.
"So…" I say, having to get close enough to him to effectly tongue his ear if I wanted to. (Well, I should say, if I thought that would have gotten me anywhere…) "What goes on around here during the week?"
"Honey, I have no idea. I’m here from out of town."
"San Francisco!" I say, raising my glass.
"Provincetown!" he replies, clinking his glass to mine, as we both drink to our fish out of water status. Seems his friends brought him here, and he wasn’t realy feeling the vibe. But he gave me a warm, sincere hug when he was leaving and it was still a fun moment.
At least I tried to give Northeastern Pennsylvania some credit! Really, what are the odds that the San Francisco boy just picks out the other boy visiting from another gay ghetto?!
