The Queer Librarian #1
Growing up in Houston, I used to go to this gay bar. They would let you in before you turned 21, but you had to sign an actual waiver at the door.
My friends and I would stand hovering at a side table in the entrance, each signing our names and getting Xes drawn on our hands in sharpie.
In the bathroom, I’d take a nip from the leopard-print flask stuffed down my knee-high boots, wash off my Xes in the sink, and join my people.
I didn’t know they were my people, but they did. They protected me...