No one wants to know how hot dogs are made (256)

I met the drag queen that went by the name of Ginger Vitus when i was stranded in a Florida Greyhound station. she had just won second runner up in a drag queen competition, and i was- it doesn't matter what i was doing. it stands to reason that if you are in a greyhound station in rural Florida at 2 a.m. you're probably only up to two possible things. leaving a drag contest is the second thing.
we talked about life and love and people that had done us wrong. Ginger was in love with a young hipster that worked in a North Carolina record store that she frequented. it was the only store that carried vinyl records, and ginger was an audiophile of sorts. She had fallen Head over heels for the guy while in drag, and had never had the courage to go to the store dressed like a man. she knew that the guy wasn't gay and that she'd lose the one thing she had to look forward to- being flirted with by a young sexy man that had no idea that she was a man.
she asked me if a=she should tell him, but i said no. why ruin a good thing?
just take from it what you can until you can't, then find something else.
if I'd learned anything from my constant romances with the insane, this was it.
Ginger and i exchanged numbers and hugged when her bus arrived at 4:30.
me, i left. i had a long walk ahead of me. I was never waiting for a bus anyway.