Nothing's gonna harm you, not while I'm around

5:30 AM, Sunday morning, Summer 2005. It was the most peaceful cusp of dawn you can imagine. Nature was stilled in the last darkness; the coming sun and heat only vaguely imposing themselves. The convenience store was empty but for me, grabbing my newspaper, and the clerk, shrouded in a blue haze of her own exhaust. After paying for the news, I turned to leave and my peace was shattered. Distracted by the headlines, I unceremoniously crashed into a 60-something combed-over dude wearing a purple and blue velour track suit and corduroy house slippers. In a public venue. Christ, what am I saying? Who would wear this shit in private? I trust and pray that my gay gene will be some form of talisman against ever exhibiting this sort of behaviour. Right?