Tom and I were running sprints with the rest of Denver’s Gay Rugby team across Cheesman Park. This was awhile back but, I’ve been forgetting to blog about it, probably because I was suppressing it.
We’re hauling ass down the park as fast as we can to get to the grove of trees, at this point my lungs have filled with some sort of deadly fluid, and as I staggered to the tree line two homeless gay youth step out from doing the nasty. The one with the nasty burn on his lip exclaims loudly,
“What is this? A fat camp!”
Tom turns to start something, and I think yeah, don’t f%$k with Tom. Quickly I realize that Toms wanting to rumble with the teenage prostitutes would normally mean I’m his backup, but since my lungs had collapsed. He was on his own.
“Damn Tom *gasp* I’d say I got your *gasp* back but, I’m going to die now *gasp* so your own your *gasp* own.“
It’s a turning point in your life when gay- teenage- druggie prostitutes can call you fat, and there’s nothing you can do to stop them.
My life as it has been lived with dignity.