"mouse?"
"yeah?"
"do you think i'm a fag hag?"
"what?"
"i do. i'm sure of it."
"you've been eating funny mushrooms again."
"i don't mind being a fag hag, actually. there are worse things to be."
"you are not a fag hag, mona."
"look at the symptoms. i hang around with you, don't i? we go boogying at buzzby's and the endup. i'm practically a fixture at the palms." she laughed. "shit! i've drunk so many blue moons i feel like i'm turning into dorothy lamour."
"mona..."
"hell, mouse! i hardly know any straight men anymore."
"you live in san francisco."
"it isn't that.i don't even like most straight men. brian hawkins repulses me. straight men are boorish and boring and...."
"maybe you've been exposed to the wrong one."
"then where the hell are the right ones?"
"hell, i don't know. there must be..."
"don't you dare suggest one of those mellowed-out marin types. underneath all that hair and patchouli beats the heart of a true pig. i've been that route."
"what can i say?"
"nothing. not a damned thing."
"i love you a lot, mona."
"i know, i know."
"for what it's worth....sometimes i wish that were enough."
[mit tom und konsorten auf einem der sofas draussen vorm les garecons gelegen, klischee gespielt und so dreckig geschwatzt, dass wir danach eigentlich unsere münder hätten mit seife auswaschen müssen. stattdessen vodka getrunken. reinigt ja auch. auf dem heimweg, just in time for 'queer as folk', wollte ich ausprobieren, ob man von den umsonstinternetstationen von wall eigentlich tuggen kann, aber sowohl die am colombipark, als auch die am bertoldsbrunnen war ausser gefecht. ich werd das nächsten woche noch mal probieren müssen.]
