I just had a very odd thing happen.
I was getting gas at the gas station just off the highway, and the alarm at the (closed) gas station across the street was going off, and I was looking in that direction, trying to figure out what was going on. As I did so, a white pickup truck pulled out of the gas station I was in, and a baseball-capped guy in the passenger seat said, “[my type of car] are for faggots. Get a Toyota, bitch.” Then they sped off.
I’ve gone from puzzled to bewildered to afraid to curious to puzzled again in the space of the ten minutes or so since this happened. I’ve never been insulted before on the basis of the kind of car I drive. Part of me is confused that anyone — anyone — would care what sort of car I drive enough to insult me. Part of me, a small part, is slightly outraged, and a still smaller part is vaguely put off. I like my car, but I never thought I would be on the receiving end of hate speech as a result of owning it.
Tonight I lay in the arms of my lover, and I cupped her breasts in my hands, felt her heart beat below my fingertips. Blessings be upon you, you men who hold your lover’s balls as you lie in bed, who hear hate and fear in the voices of passers-by, and yet choose to love. My prayers are with you this night, for I see through a mirror darkly the great shadow that hangs over your path.