Pride

The first time I tried to go to pride consciously I didn't know what to wear. My outfit at the time didn't have anything with a rainbow on it, outside a single pair of work issued pride month socks that I took from someone who didn't really want them1. So I put those on. I think I put on a band t-shirt that would assert my queerness through having a superior music taste, and whatever jeans I had been wearing that week, and my shoes, and I headed into the city. When I got to the station just outside the parade, I could see the other people gathering up to head in. Vendors selling unironed pride flags they had bought on Amazon and marked up a couple bucks. And the uniformed police officers and their metal detectors that controlled all access to the street where the parade was actually being held. Somewhere around then is when I thought I would rather get shot and killed than have to go through this. So I didn't go. I found a bar a couple blocks away, and drank until I felt like me and…