Naked to the bar by Ryder Collins

Dear Exxy,

Thanks for the FB friending and what’s up message. Part of me’s writing you back just cos; the pragmatic core of me that’s trying to do something with my life since we knew each other as hot and sexing food service junkies is writing you back because you live in San Fran now and I live in a small Southern town and MLA’s coming up. I have this fantasy of, between interviews, if I have any, you and I meeting up in the Hilton or whatever lobby bar and I’m wearing a suit skirt but garters and lace and leather underneath and you’ll just know and show up. Dirty punk rock, from my past; a huge Rollins sun tattoo on your back. Although I know it’s a sun cos I saw it rising and setting and rising and setting, all those times we kicked it, I don’t know if it’s really a Henry Rollins tattoo or if that’s some sort of connotation I picked up. But if I started talking about the connotations of sun tattoos and Henry Rollins and then started analyzing what it all meant: sexuality, othering, being marked, marking, gender politics, queerness, you’d probably leave said bar, lobby, whatever. Or not even show up.

So, forget all that; right now I’m drinking a tallboy of PBR and remembering how we busted our asses closing. Just so we could make it to the bar before last call, together.

Yours.

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