Chapter 22: Plaything
The Rancher Room
Nebraska Street
9:13 P.M.
After my two-hour task at Stolid, sharing fake smiles with the buyers and admirers, and my almost-encounter with the man who had broken my heart, I decided that the consumption of a beer (or two, seven, twelve) was called for. A queer cowboy bar called the Rancher Room was about six blocks from Stolid. There, a collage artist such as myself could find a slew of different men: hairless and muscular jocks, blue-collar workers, beefy military dudes, studious professors, powerful officers of the law, an adorable preacher or two, twenty-one-year-old boys, and fun-filled executives. And of course there were ranchers around the bar—ranch hands, ranch owners, field workers, and even rodeo riders—tasty men for the taking.
As alwa
