It's just after six in the morning and I've been awake for a while already because I've got an early flight out of Champaign, Illinois in a few minutes.
I gave the above photo a once-over for the first time a moment ago and realized that I look pretty hit, the reason being that I spent way too many hours of last night meeting local queer folk at Chester Street Bar, this city's only gay establishment, which is housed in an old brick building that was, according to the chatty young queen behind the bar, once a wagon wheel factory and then a morgue during a tuberculosis outbreak back in the day.
Last night the bar was playing host to a gathering for a straight fraternity and a straight sorority who partnered to rent out part of the venue because it's got the best dance floor in town (go figure). In addition to the cheap booze, the highlight of the evening was listening to the lesbian bartender as she gave a live-report on the status of the hammered college girls as they attempted to traverse the ancient brick floor in their heels. I believe the description "baby fawn on ice" was used at least once.
Welp, I guess I'm gonna get on an airplane now. Champaign was unexpectedly dope, but I'm also not pissed about heading back to San Francisco where the temperature outside isn't seven.