The Wanderer

“We’re getting married!” my sister Virginia said to everyone around the dinner table. And just like that, one of my siblings had taken the spotlight once again.

Mom was elated with joy, mostly because Virginia had been dating Tom for over four years now and we were starting to wonder if it would go anywhere. With how family oriented everyone in the Stratford circle was, casual dating only went so far.

 I was happy for my sister, just like I had been equally joyous when my brother, Billie, announced his engagement, and the eldest, Sax, before him. I knew they were getting married for the right reasons and this was truly beautiful…for them. I just wish Virginia had picked any other night to make this announcement. But it wasn’t her fault since she didn’t know. No one in the family knew. But still... “Have you set a date yet?” Mom asked enthusiastically.

“We’re thinking mid-May/early-June,” Tom answered, kissing my sister shortly after. I’ll admit; their happiness was contagious. Seeing them so enthralled by their upcoming union made the big sap inside me want to burst into melody. But instead, I just sat and smiled. And then, frowned as the words “mid-May/early-June” resonated in my mind. I’m sure no one took notice of my frown just like I’m sure no one else realized my high school graduation would most likely collide with Virginia and Tom’s wedding plans. I was also sure I knew which took priority in my family’s mindset. So instead of telling everyone what I had decided regarding my college pursuits, I did what I did best in these types of situations: smiled.

The next couple of weeks were filled with calls, bridal shower preparations, dress fitting appointments, church scouting, anything wedding related imaginable: my family was on it.

“Charlie. What do you think of this dress?” Virginia asked as she showed me a picture on her phone while we sat on my bed. “It’s cute. But not quite you.”

“How?” Virginia persisted, hoping I would second-think my response. “It wouldn’t agree with your whole stature; your skin tone, even your eyes. It’s just—bland!” I said what I meant to say since she first asked my advice. I didn’t want to be rude and discredit her taste, but that dress was more along the lines of first communion than a wedding.

“Thanks Charlie,” my sister said, giving up on the dress. Virginia looked at me and sighed.

Virginia would come to me for suggestions on everything. We grew up extremely close despite the four year gap between us, me being the youngest. We became so close, yet were polar opposites; she was great at math, hated being at home, was absentminded, a bit messy, and her mind was always in the clouds. Though I too could mentally drift off at times, I tried staying on planet Earth as much as possible. I enjoyed being home, reading, was a control freak, liked the idea of sitting around the dinner table for dinner, and was “decent” at math. Nevertheless, there would always be one common factor that made us inseparable: our hopeless romanticism. Even before admitting to myself that I was gay, I knew I wanted to fall deeply in love one day. I knew I wanted a family, with kids, maybe a dog, and a big house.

“Sorry if I’m not the most helpful,” I said to Virginia, who just looked at me with tears building up in her eyes.

“I...I don’t know if I can do this.” Virginia confessed, finally letting go.

“What’s wrong?” I had never seen my sister cry like this before. But she didn’t say anything, she just rested her head on my shoulder and cried.

The conversation we had that night is one I will never forget, because it put my sister’s insecurities out in the open like never before. I, myself, would only do this once in my entire life, years later, in a dark room loaded with “Star Wars” and anime fandom collectibles, a Mac- Book Pro, a twin-bed and very little furnishing. I would cry and lay my head on the shoulder of a guy I barely knew, who for some reason, made me feel at ease. But that was another, sad night.

It happened during Virginia’s wedding reception, of all occasions. I had a bit too much to drink, this time intentionally; the irk of secrecy and impotence got the best of me that day.

“I just want to...Tell you that...” I could barely articulate my words- much less stand steadily-as I tried reciting my speech. No one anticipated I was going to give this speech, but it was warmly welcomed; if they had known the thoughts racing through my mind! There was no warning they could heed, so instead they just sat and looked up at me, as I stood in front of the dance floor with the mic in hand, with too much bubbly in my system.

“I just hope you have a good life, with, your...This attractive, intelligent, tall...” I was beginning to lose it as I was halfway through my word salad, but no one said anything: they just smiled. Did they really expect that much from me? Did they really think I was incapable of error or debauchery? Maybe I was just that good at pretending.

“Yes! Tall he is! I continued.

Tom was a very good looking man. I wasn’t thinking this in a “I have the hots for my sister’s husband” type of way; I was just very observant at that moment. Tom, in his black tux, black bow-tie and slicked back, curly blonde hair—looked dashing. My sister, in her white, lacy dress with white, little-flower tapestry from the waist to the seam—looked like a white swan. Her black hair, tied up in a bun, her make-up, which gave her an exotic flair; everything about the way she looked that day made her radiate in beauty.

My parents were picturesque. Dad, with his grey hair combed to the side and stubbly beard, wore the smile of a proud father; he was proud not just in the union, but in Virginia for making this lifelong commitment; he had absolute faith in her—his favorite— through every decision she made. Mom, in her peach colored skirt, brown cardigan and light- green top; looked proud too. For some reason, memories of my mother are blurry from that day. This could be for many reasons. After all, I had never made her cry before and it wasn’t a memory I was adamant on hanging onto.

It happened without warning; I lost my fight to gravity and fell off the dance floor. Luckily for me, the main catering table broke my fall. That’s the thing though—there was a reason why it was the “main” catering table; amongst the many platters of food on top of it, so was the wedding cake. I love cake as much as the next guy, but not enough to make love to it the way I did at that reception. Man, did me and that cake go at it. It lost though; it was whipped cream, chocolate filling and fresh strawberries meeting their fate all over my chest. But the cake could have been easily forgiven. It was only cake...

“Charlie!” Virginia yelled as she ran to help me up.

Just like I couldn’t hold my own against gravity, I failed at holding my own against my bowels. Vile soon added another layer my sister’s dress, but this was a truly ugly layer. Tom was the only one to come to her aid as everyone just looked in disbelieve-and disgust. They were disgusted with me.

“Why couldn’t you just say something to us. It’s not a bad thing, you know,” Mom said as I laid in bed two days later. I had to be rushed to the hospital for alcohol poisoning. Emptying my guts on my sister’s dress had not been enough to purge me, sadly. The days that followed were me drinking electrolytes after electrolytes (Gatorade, Powerade, so on) having only broth and crackers as nourishment. My stomach was going through a slow recovery, just like my family after the scandal I had caused.

“I....I didn’t know if you’d approve.” I finally opened up, unable to look at my parents while doing so.

“Why so far?” Mom asked, after a moment of silence in that room.

“I want to see the world. That’s all.”

“There’s UCLA, Berkeley, UC Santa Barbara. So many options. Why!”

“Do it. If you want it that badly—do it,” Dad said as he held up one of my books, “A Brave New World”, by Aldous Huxley.

Dad looked at Mom, who looked back through grief stricken eyes. I turned my eyes down to my bed sheets, which were red and silky. They felt so soft yet cold, just like Mom’s reaction to my confession. I turned to look out the window; it was sunset on a Monday: Monday, May 26th. I will never forget that day. That was the first, hardest day of my life.

Then came this one.

“I’m gay,” I said in what seemed like the most casual tone ever used in coming out.

“I know,” said Rupert, in a non-affected tone.

“Are you serious? Since when?”

“Since like always. You’re just gay? Like not girly or anything like that. You’re obsessively clean, dramatic, and you love to sing in the shower. But that’s just Charlie. You’re just gay,”

Rupert said as he rolled up a joint, offering me a hit and I took two.

“Have you always known?”

“Always."

“What about Rosalia? We were together for a while”.

“Figured that’s what turned you gay.” Rupert decided to break in some humor to my big, life-changing confession.

“That’s not how it works!” I objected his thwarted comment before he started chuckling. My sense of humor is thwarted at times.

“I’m jankin your chain wanker-doodle,” Rupert said, easing my agitated mind.

“Take another, you need it,” Rupert suggested handing me the blunt. I took it because he was right—I needed it.

“What to do now...” said Rupert, as we both sat on the sofa, contemplating my confession, which turned out to be-not much of a confession.

By this point in my life I was living in LA. I had finished my degree years back. My decision to study abroad was well-worth it. London was an invigorating experience. From Ishiguro to Conrad; I was dealt some of English literature’s finest works. It was life changing and an irreplaceable experience. Never before had I studied abroad, and the British community was surprisingly welcoming. I quickly made a best friend and prospective roommate: Rupert.

After my first year at Oxford, I wanted to live in the city and experience the domestic life of this foreign country.

We managed to find a surprisingly good deal, too. We spent our days quite leisurely; we smoked a little too much, definitely drank way too much, and missed lecture more often than not; but we both still managed to graduate on top of our class. If you exclude Rosalia, who really isn’t worth mentioning with the exception of validating my homosexuality, I would relive this period in my life repeatedly. We traveled a bit around the globe after graduating and lived in both SOHO and Florida. I had wandered the earth, and now I was going to wander the constitution of my sexuality. Fortunately for me, I had my good buddy Rupert there for me along my path.

“Weho?” Rupert suggested.

“No. Even though I haven’t been to any gay bars before, I don’t know about Weho...”

We both sat, still contemplating. Rupert then gave me a look similar to that of a cartoon caricature, like in one of those scenes where a light bulb lights up above Rupert’s head due to some brilliant idea.

“El Cove...” Rupert said to me in very slow words.

“El What?” I asked, never having heard of the place before.

“It’s like two blocks down. I see all these, what do you call them... ‘Bears’ and ‘Daddy’s’, and your scummy—no offense—‘Gay-Hipsters’, walking in and out. You’d love it!” Rupert said proudly, as if this was the most brilliant idea of all time.

“If you say so...” I said as we grabbed our flasks and headed out the door. It was a warm night. Rupert wasn’t kidding. The outside patio of the place was swarming with bearded men of two age groups and ethnicities; White and Hispanic in their mid-twenties to mid-thirties. Even the body types seemed to be a two-way street; extremely thin or pretty built with a minimal degree of body-fat to mask their body-mass definition. The door man seemed like a seasoned patron himself; wearing a blue jean-jacket, black khakis and a grey beanie. His grey mustache made his facial expressions hard to read.

“How are you gentleman doing?” the door man asked. “I’m..gay. I mean well. Yourself?”

“Thanks for the breaking news sunshine, I’m doing as well as sitting here warrants.” The doorman answered me sarcastically. I supposed that should be the new norm for me to get used to.

“He just came out tonight! Like an hour ago, in our living room. He thought I’d yell out ‘bloody hell!’, but I always knew,” Rupert babbled on to the door man, who seemed to careless. The pot was having it’s way with Rupert.

“Have a fun night, guys,” the doorman said as we entered.

 “Wasn’t he swarming with rainbows and unicorns...” Rupert said in what he thought was a whisper, but we weren’t nearly far away for the door man to miss this crude commentary from my spunky, British partner in crime.

El Cove was an experience in itself. Unlike the Weho bars we had experienced during the Halloween Parade, the one thing that set El Cove aside was its clientele’s common goal: getting laid. These men stood together, in a clique-formation, but as they engaged in conversation with their friends, their peripheral vision was fixated on others outside it.

In West Hollywood, the men were far too fixated on themselves to give other strangers in the bar that much time investment. Those men, “Barbie’s Ken” type in their appearance and as horny as can be, put their own self-adoration before their sexual endeavors. Those men had little control over their drinking limit. Before they could maintain a long enough conversation to head home with a man of their liking, their drinking got the best of them and the pre-gaming, four shots of tequila, and final beer to “sober up” resulted ruinous to their sexual endeavors.

El Cove and Silver Lake, as I would soon discover, catered to a much different crowd. These men presented themselves in a different light. Bars in Silver Lake were often empty during the day, and the clientele was rarely of a disorderly type. These men, either by their liquor tolerance or a controlled drinking pattern, steered away from belligerent behavior. And these men also rarely came to the bar alone nor left alone. The Silver Lake gay scene was definitely my save-haven within the gay community.

We walked to the back room which concealed a dance-floor and another bar. The vibe was different on this side. While the front bar was more quaint and definitely where all the cliques situated themselves; this side showed a more rowdy side to the gay Silver Lake-Hipsters. Here, all pretenses were set aside and all agendas were out in the open. The dance-floor was a herd of men on men, all unleashing their innate, sexual desires.

Rupert went up to the bar and bought two cokes. There was an empty table right next to the back-bar that we managed to snatch before the dance floor filled up. It was a great location to people watch.

“See anyone cute? asked Rupert. His questions were still a bit awkward to accept; I never thought he’d be so inquisitive about my sexuality! I actually took a second to look around. I had been so focused on the world of this place that I hadn’t taken the chance to check out the merchandise (bad joke, I know).

“This is new...” I said to Rupert as I further assimilated what he had asked me.

There were many guys there, but not too many were along the lines of what I considered attractive. These men were tall, hairy, skinny, lanky, bearded, scruffy: the typical fits of a “hipster” gay. Rupert passed the flask and I poured some liquor into my drink.

“When did you know you were a cock-lover mate?” asked Rupert.

“Dude, you are ...” I could’t help but laugh at the Rupert’s crudeness, “Since I first saw you.”

We both laughed even harder.

 Rupert went up to the bar to refill to the cokes; we determined not to spend more than ten bucks that night, seeing as we already spent too much money on liquor that month. I sat alone while he got the beverages. Suddenly, the level of attention coming my way went up like ten notches. Guys were looking at me significantly more. None of them were to my liking, but the attention was nice. They were very attractive, but just not my type.Then I saw him.

In the style of a bad comedy when the action goes into slow motion as the hot girl makes her way across the loser guy and his bumbling, idiotic friend: it happened. This was no insanely, hot girl, of course: to me, he was the equivalent. He was also no “ten”: to me, he was the cutest guy I had ever seen; skinny, but not scrawny; average height, but not too short; and the brownest, oval-shaped eyes I had ever seen. There was an overall ambiguity to his look. His ethnicity could have been mistaken for Asian, White, Hispanic, or some cross-breed stemming from all three. He looked at me from his peripheral vision, I looked straight at him.

“Charlie. Charlie, hello. Earth to Charlie!” Rupert waved the Coca-Cola in front of my face.

 “My bad.” I said as I took the Coca-Cola.

“Who were you looking at?” He asked.

“Him,” I said pointing at where the guy had been standing. He was gone.

“He...There was some guy there!” I said with a sigh of disappointment. Rupert put his arm around me.

“Mate, this is the biggest cock fest on a Friday night in Silver Lake. You’ll find one soon.”

We sat for another couple of minutes and I answered all of Rupert’s questions; “Have you always been gay? Why did you date a girl? Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” ; and my personal favorite, “Have you ever wanted to bone me?”; the more we drank, the easier answering all these questions became.

“There he is again!” I said Rupert in a loud whisper.

He had returned.

“That guy? He looks like he’s fifteen.“ Rupert pointed out--which was not true! (he looked young, but not fifteen!)

He looked around; he was searching for something. He went up to the bar and got a drink, then turned and made his way past us, stopping-stopping to look at me (or at least I hoped).

“Can I take a seat?” He asked us. I had forgotten there was an open seat at our table.

“Go ahead, mate,” Rupert answered.

He sat next to me. I was definitely nervous.

“I’m Victor,” he said, directing himself to me for the first time.

“I’m Charlie. How’s your night going?”

“Nicely. I am waiting on some friends. I think they got a little carried away pre-gaming. What brings you guys out here tonight? Victor asked. He was looking directly at Rupert when he asked this, which was a relief because I don’t think I could have dealt with him looking straight at me any longer.

“My buddy here just came out!” Rupert said in his usual, drunk stupor.

I could not believe Rupert had just said that. What an ass.

“He wanted to see some gays and I said ‘Where better than El Cove!’” Rupert continued.

“You guys live in the area?” Victor further inquired.

“Like three blocks down. It wasn’t a far walk,” Rupert responded, dominating the conversation unintentionally.

“Where do you live?” I asked Victor, now fighting to take the lead.

“In West Hollywood, near the Beverly Center,” Victor responded. I was a bit thrown off that he made his way down to the east side. Soon I would realize that El Cove would truly be “ground zero” both of us.

“You must really like this place” I pointed out the obvious.

When I stop and think about that night, all I can think is how weird, funny, and inconvenient life can be. Life can be a straight up bitch half the time. I met Victor, a guy who I quickly became enamored with, at the worst of times. Love isn’t everything, though; I needed to explore.

 “Are you guys roommates?” Victor asked us both this time.

“We are. We moved out here together after finishing school.” I was determined to make the conversation an A and B conversation-with Rupert C-ing his way out. It didn’t matter any way; Rupert was too stoned and drunk to really give a crap.

Victor was soon fascinated by the fact that we had studied in London. He told us one of his biggest dreams was to travel to there, but that he hadn’t the chance to even explore the many states in the U.S. I was intrigued to know what about London called to him so deeply. All I knew was the sheer mentioning of this country, its culture and people, made his young eyes light up; the glow in them was engaging and their warmth transfused through it.

“What brought you guys out here?” Victor soon proved to be the inquisitive type.

“The film industry, duh!” Rupert quickly chimed in.

“What do you do out here?” I asked, taking control again.

“I plan to transfer over in the fall, to a four year University. I want to be a director. Well, a paid director,” Victor responded.

“What school?” I fought harder to maintain control.

“CSUN or Woodbury. I don’t suppose you know where Woodbury is, do you?” Victor asked me. I could see insecurity in his eyes as he asked me this. This question was directed towards me alone. I could sense it in his body language, his gaze, and his fading energy away from me.

“I know where CSUN is. I have heard they have an amazing film program.” I said to Victor, hoping this would bring up his spirits again. I could only assume there was some insecurity towards the choices he had picked for his undergraduate education. The truth of the matter was: I knew little to nothing about CSUN except that just about anyone could get into it. All I knew was the it was located in Northridge somewhere in the remote world of “the valley”. I had never even heard of Woodbury.

“Do you want some whiskey?” I asked Victor, hoping to ease and sway him away simultaneously.

“Like a shot?” Victor asked in complete innocence.  I motioned for Rupert to hand over the flask. He did, smiling at me as he knew where this conversation was aimed at.

“Let me go get some cokes.” I said. As much as I didn’t want to leave Victor with Rupert, it was my turn to buy the chasers and figured this would also make me seem generous in Victor’s eyes.

“Thank you. Can you get me a Diet-Coke, though? With a splash of cranberry?” I had never had this request before.

“Sure,” I said, starting to make my way over to the bar.

 I walked back with two cokes and a Diet-Coke with a splash of cranberry (the bartender didn’t seen too shocked when I ordered this unusual request; a sign of how much of a regular Victor was at the bar). Rupert passed me the flask and I poured whiskey into both my and Victor’s cokes. I may have gone a little heavy in the pouring.

Soon, we were all giggly and talking movies.

“Did you know ‘Halloween’ was the highest grossing, indie movie ever made to date, only shortly out ranked by ‘Paranormal Activity’.”

“I love Halloween. And I did know that!” Victor said. “ I love horror movies, too bad the ones now in days are so terrible! Rob Zombie can—”

“How dare you mate! I love Rob Zombie. The grand master of tits extravaganza!” Rupert blurted out as loudly as you can possibly project inside a crowded bar.

“He remade Halloween—badly. He’s blasphemous,” Victor said in a rather serious tone, but then began cracking up. This was so cute. His conviction towards his movie choices, his adoration for classic actors and Stanley Kubrick films; Victor was so cute in so many different ways. I really did just want to kiss him. But instead, I just looked at him and smiled. I couldn’t take it anymore and kicked Rupert. He got the cue.

“I am going to go smoke. I’ll be right back”. Rupert stood up, fighting his way through bears and cubs and other bearded men. He was their perfect prey; clean shaven, skinny, youthful and British. The funny part is that he reveled in it; Rupert epitomized “attention-whore”. Victor and I continued talking about movies; he told me his favorite was Breakfast at Tiffany’s; I only knew that it was iconic of Audrey Hepburn. It was intriguing that for someone so young, Victor had such a deep adoration for classic cinema.

The more we talked, the more the Whiskey had its way with me, and the more I wanted to feel Victor.

“My friends are in line outside,” Victor said as he read through his last text message. I wanted all his attention for myself.

“Your friend sure has been gone a while.”

“Rupert has a tendency to do that, when he knows I need alone time.” That whiskey was treacherous and it was gaining control. I extended my hand to feel Victor’s.

 “Now you and I can talk more intimately,” I said, looking him straight in the eyes.

Even through my glasses; we were fixated on each other’s eyes. “Victor!!!” said four girls as they made their way to the table.

These girls were first and up-close, personal interactions with lesbians. They were very eclectic in personality. “Mel”, the leader of the pack, was short, petite, wearing the most hipster glasses I have ever seen, and had her hair tied up in a pony tail.

 “Veronica”, her girlfriend, was your typical, lipstick lesbian. She was dark-skinned, exotic looking, curvaceous and her exuberant personality complimented her good looks. The rest of the girl’s names are a blur since they weren’t close friends of Victor but members of Mel and

Veronica’s clique. I do remember that they were mostly Asian and Latina.

“This is Charlie,” Victor introduced me to Veronica, who seemed to be the girl he was the closest to. “Charlie and his friend kept me company while I waited for you girls.”

 “Sorry about the wait! We went to show a show beforehand and then pre-gamed at my place and our taxi took a while. Glad you made a friend to keep you company.” Veronica leaned in to whisper something in Victor’s ear, looking at me peripherally while doing so.

Rupert soon came back, high as a kite, and sat next to the girls. Before long, we were all laughing and passing our flasks to each other; these girls were apparently on the same track of mind as Rupert and myself.

The line to the restroom was a long one. Victor volunteered to keep guard outside the restroom because he claimed the lock didn’t work, which proved to be true. I hadn’t peed since we arrived at the bar so I took a long, long pee during which I reflected on my past couple of days; I had gotten a promotion from my bigoted bosses, came out as a gay man to my best friend, and was now at a gay bar, having all sorts of unimagined thoughts and desires towards a guy. If it wasn’t for the whiskey or the hits I took before leaving the apartment, I might have just started hyper ventilating.

“I’m going.” I said, washing my hands and pouring water over my face. The bar wasn’t just loud: it was steaming! I sweated buckets before making it into the restroom.

 “There you are!” I said as Victor had walked away from the little hall path leading to the restrooms.

 “I’m sorry about leaving. I just got a text from the girls saying they had to go and I wanted to say goodbye, but then I remembered the restrooms don’t lock and--”

  I was done talking.

“I want to kiss you.”

  “Then do it...” said Victor, smiling.

So I did. This feeling was very different from anything I ever felt kissing any girls when I was in middle school and high school: this was unique. His lips were slightly chapped, but soft. His tongue was even softer and wet, but not in a gross, saliva slathered way. This kiss was almost like biting into a fully ripen, white peach; soft, succulent, and sweet; the act was cathartic; the feeling was that of ecstasy. This was separate from any chemical reaction the whiskey or the Sativa had caused inside me; this was a release of my utmost, repressed desires. Desires I hadn’t fully comprehended until that night.

We smiled at each other, then he kissed me again.

“Rupert is walking back home.”

“It’s almost two. I should head to the bus stop,” Victor started his goodbye.

“Let me give you my number,” I said, needing to see him again.

Victor took out his phone, an archaic one at that. Nothing remotely close to a “Smart Phone”, but more like a cheap version of an “Android”.

 “What’s your number?” Victor asked, ready to enter the number into his contacts.

 “(305) 755-8776. Here. I’ll shoot you a text”.

 I tried being nonchalant.

“Hey Victor. It’s Charlie. It was great meeting you tonight. We should hangout sometime. Do dinner or a movie? Let me know. I think I’m free tomorrow.” Yea, nonchalant soon went out the window.

“I’m free tomorrow after work.” Victor responded quickly to my text.

I didn’t read this until I was staggering home, carefully making sure I didn’t jaywalk because I had already had too many close calls with getting hit by cars in the past. It had taken me a while to get accustomed to the driving of Angelenos compared to the Brits. Granted, nothing was as bad as Florida drivers. Those were notorious at breaking every driving law known to man.

“Perfect. You said you work at the Beverly Center, right?” I was interrupted mid- text by the honking of a car.

“Get the fuck out of the way!” yelled out an angry, blonde woman from her run down Honda.

 “Sorry, sorry.” I said, getting onto the sidewalk. I sent the text.

“I work at store named (I actually can’t remember it’s name, for some reason.) There is no missing it. It’s the store that looks like it’s puking out rainbows. Haha. I am off at 8:30 on Saturdays.” Victor was incredibly fast at responding to texts. I, on the other hand, was not. It was a miracle that I was being so responsive at that moment.

 I got home and quickly fell into bed. Rupert was dead asleep on the couch when I walked in, too shit-faced to make it into his room. The apartment reeked of pot. I could smell it as I closed my eyes, closing them tightly and wandering into my thoughts. I wandered about Victor Alfaro; his face, with it’s strong features yet gentle expressions and soft lips; his piercing black eyes, looking straight at me, vividly in my thoughts. I wandered on the idea of our date the following day. If this is what the gay life had to offer; I could wander through it just fine.