High heels click. Lush mouton coats the color of root beer cover angora sweaters.
Full skirts swing, earrings sparkle.
A few of them even wear jackets and ties, snappy. Weak with envy whenever a grown-up butch, swinging the bar door wide with one hand, lightly places her other hand against the small of her femme's back. No thought of roles here, just facts of life. Fierce arguments as to which of us she was really winking at erupting like our acne. There are long, turgid analyses of what that wink, smile, look might have meant.