I’m in a restaurant. I think. It’s more like, um, a cesspit of heteronormative dreck with a juice bar. I don’t know why I ordered or why I’m sitting at a table next to loud kids with balloons which is next to a table with a large dog sitting with its owner. I mean, cute but also what the actual fuck? There’s a bar upstairs. I think this is part of some weird trendy boutique hotel in the weird trendy neighborhood that heteronormative rich people bled dry of every ounce of charm and character about 15 years ago. I should’ve turned right around when I saw the sticker on the door with a male muscle arm shape with “These are the only guns allowed in here” written under it. So I guess this is also a gym or something somehow? I feel like a sociologist at this point. Looking around, observing, studying, and rolling my eyes about every thirty goddamn seconds.