Chapter 13
The following evening, I have drinks with Craig at a small club called The Pink Palace. The place is wall-to-wall men who are gothic gays, hardcore heavy metal, and leather daddies. These men dance, drink, share drugs, and sneak into tiny back rooms to get their rocks off together. A pink-black ambiance illuminates the club’s interior. The music is trendy, but obnoxiously hardcore, which Craig seems to enjoy. We do gin on the rocks, enjoy the rough scene, and talk about my voyeuristic behavior on Oates Way.
“I’m jealous,” Craig shares, winking at me with a scruffy grin. This evening he is dressed in a leather get-up; leather chaps, leather vest, no T-shirt, and leather gloves with the fingers removed. He sports a leather police hat on his head, and in his back pocket is a soft
