Actually, it was Peggy's night to go out and dumpster dive the Lower East Sides bar scene, a combination of absurdly mustachioed hipsters with lumberjack shirts and pretenscious prettyboys with leather everything. Her solo roamings had acquainted her exceptionally well with her surroundings and she relished the nights she would venture off on her own in search of a romance or strange adventure. She had wandered the five boroughs, combed the streets of all Manhattan's neighborhoods and perused every underground spot which could still be considered underground yet her ramblings had only so far left her with broken hearts and rundown heels.
As she rounded the corner in her black suede mocassins ( which always strangely made her feel akin to a very distant native relative on her mothers' side) she came upon a group of rowdy, well dressed homosexuals smoking cigarettes and regaling eachothers' man purses. She had passed this corner before, but had never noticed such a flamboyant gathering as the one she was squeezing her way through. She made her way to the door and looked through the foggy window, foggy not from the weather but the obvious steam that appeared to be rising from the bodies crowding what seemed like a dance floor.
"Oh, that's a gay bar hunny, but go right ahead! They looove girls!" The short, grey haired man looked like he was wearing more mascara than her. She cringed slightly, but only becuase she felt sorry for his delicate manlashes. Peggy wondered if anyone would think she was a tranny if she went in and had a beer, catching a glimpse of her lusty chest in a low cut top and questioning how anyone could believe those things were real. She certianly was blessed in the looks department but couldn't help thinking how much fun she could have if she played a little game...
She would pretend she was a man.
Ever since the tender age of 3, Peggy was suspiciously curious about the opposite sex. As an only child, she formulated games in her head and performed behavioral and psychological experiments on unsuspecting schoolboys. She just loved playing with men, and trying to figure them out was like a mental jigsaw puzzle that occupied her daydreams for hours. Topics like "the thrill of the chase" and the rules of calling after a date were part of her steady theorizing, and she had compiled an anthology of journals filled with her notes and musings on the male mind. The prospect of being able to fuck with the gay male mind was a temptation she could hardly resist. Imagine the look on that poor boys face when in reaching for that hard throbbing member under her skirt, he would be greeted by a moist dungeon of vaginal horror.
"Oh oh oh...." She giggled to herself as she adjusted her "junk" and strolled lustily over to the bar.
It had been seven months that Julio had been on the road, the long dusty road that carried him to New York from Mexico. This time he was here to stay, he tried to convince himself as he threw rocks casually into the east river. He had climbed down the fire escape from his thrid story hole in the wall, the one he was renting from an old german nazi lady with alzheimers who never remembered to collect the rent. He was still down to his last 20 dollars, and as he folded the bills apprehensively and secured them in his necklace satchel, it occurred to him that a plan of action must be decided, because unfortunately for Julio, the electric company and phone service did not have alzheimers.
All of Julios clothes had been ruined when the van had caught on fire on the side of the road in Kentucky the week before. Monkeys and matches do not mix well with a truckfull of fluffy animals and an unhealthy collection of alcohol. But that was the way it had functioned for them, at least for the first 7 months. But alas, the Funky Mexicano Dancing Animal Brigade went up in flames. The only articles remaining were his sombrero, cowboy boots and a fruity red bolero jacket, complete with sequined lettering on the back displaying his name. As he made his way up Avenue A, the spurs of his boots clinked together with the anger of a miniature marching band grinding its teeth. He tried to avert his eyes from the peering stares of passing strangers, pretending not to be ohazed by his ridiculous get up. But as he made his way through a group of young giggling men, he imediately became the center of attention for the crowd that had gathered outside in the street.
"My oh my, what a handsome Latin Cowboy...MMMmm! You must be here for the show." Hissed a lean and muscular black man with a chiquita banana headress. There was an eruption of commentary from the onlookers, some of them oohing and ahhing...some laughing and pointing. Julio spun around to the delight of the rowdy boys and a smile cruised the coffee colored ocean of his face from ear to ear. He never passed up the opportunity to have a little fun...especially at his own expense.
"Excuse me, Senorita, but what exactly is dis show ju are talking about?" Julio cooed at the Carmen Miranda look alike.
"Oh well, you haven't heard then? I thought you were ready and in costume..." He/she cooed right back.
Julio examined his outerwear and his full spicy lips curled into a devilish grin. "It just so happens, ladies and gentlemen, that I am in costume, and I am ready for the show." He took a stance like a bullfighter and proceeded directly towards the door.