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It is Mardi Gras. I took to the streets like a fool or a devil or a saint, expecting riots. I found no such thing. In all honesty, it was really fairly tame. There were more police than drunkards, and my city disappointed me. But! You may recall my friend Amie. I'd always thought her spectacularly attractive, but also extraordinarily straight. Tonight, however, she found a dozen excuses to place her arm around mine, her hand on my leg, to kiss my cheek and burrow into me against the cold. And I matched her, getting her drinks, walking her home. I thought I was imagining things, but Brandon noticed it, too. And then Lindsay was talking about kissing a dancing girl, the first woman she has ever kissed as an adult, and Amie was shocked. All of her ladyfriends have fucked, at one point or another, she said. Oh. Well. I love to be wrong about everything. We all have a date for lunch tomorrow: we'll go back to Tattooed Mom's for cheap sandwiches and then somewhere else for drinks before work and a game or two of pool. And then, at some point, Brandon and I promised to watch both Kill Bill movies with her, because she has never seen either, despite the fact that her sister is apparently a dear friend of the 5.6.7.8's. And, also, she asked if I own a power drill because she'd like for me to help her hang and fix things in her apartment. She offered to pay me, but I said it would not at all be necessary, so she said that she'd just get me drunk, instead. Oh, look. I've been seduced.