While we watched our unrecognizable friend do his act, Johnny and I caught up on what we’d been doing since school. He was working as an auto mechanic, as was our friendly local gay bully, although not at the same place. Denny was an attorney, Johnny told me.
“Don’t the lesbians complain about there being only boy go-go dancers?” I asked.
Johnny said, smiling, “Oh, they get their girls every other night, plus some of the boys do drag. There’s one young kid who looks a bit like you who dresses and sings. He was here just last week; too bad you missed him, though frankly, I think he used a fake ID to get in here. He has the sweetest contralto which segues into a little boy soprano, I swear to God, whenever he wants it to. He said last week he was going to change his name to p*****s Galore.
