From Witness
After wading through the Seoulite crowds with their iPhone screens blazing tiny future K-pop stars into the night, Dee and I hit up a convenient store for snacks and beer before settling onto a bench in one of the many hangout areas. There was something so relaxed about my newfound friend nearly half my age, with her unbelievably long hair tied up in a high, scrunchied ponytail, her oversized pink T-shirt tucked into her mom jeans, and her silver glitterbomb backpack shimmering like a disco ball in the open September air.
“How was your meeting at the adoption agency?” I asked.
“I didn’t find out much.” She cracked open a beer. “I just went in. Didn’t even schedule an appointment. Did you find out anything?”
“Yeah, they found my mom,” I said, as I offered her some chips. “She doesn’t want to meet me.”
We sat in silence as a small group of young Koreans began setting up a keyboard, mic, and speaker in the middle of the courtyard.
"I stepped through the glass doors into the trendy bar adorned with an entire wall studded like a darkly lit Twister board and suddenly remembered that I hated gay bars only slightly less than straight ones."
“You know,” Dee’s voice lingered, “it’s weird that I don’t see any gay people here—like openly gay people, because I have so many gay friends in NYC.” She took a swig. “Like all of my friends are gay… although, not a lot of lesbians,” she added, surprising herself, then continued, “but, like, my best friend is this Filipino gay boy, Brad.” She stopped in her mental tracks with another epiphany, “Actually, I think the only straight guy I know in New York is my boyfriend. Holy shit.”
“Actually, your boyfriend is totally gay,” I said in a tone bearing bad news. “He told me, like, right before we met up.”
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