The notes of pineapple hit me like a cream pie in Anita Bryant’s bitchy face. It’s my last night in San Francisco, and I had to try visiting Castro before I left. It’s too late for museums and walking tours. I’m too tired from standing under convention center lighting. I ingested cup after cup of pigswill coffee and may pass out on this counter. I plan to get a second beer before I even get my chicken tenders to celebrate the end of this trip. Down the street from here is a closed restaurant named after Supervisor Milk that I visited the last two times I came to town. I was impressed by their page-long Bloody Mary menu named after historical Marys, even though I always found the drink too rich and spicy for my tongue. That spiciness I recall makes me want to search for the notes of mango in this beer even more. I need that bit of sweetness since I won’t find any from any of the cute queers here tonight. I’m too tired to even try and flirt, too tired to even fantasize about bringing any of them back to my hotel. I’ll take another sip of beer instead and give cheers to whatever’s at the bottom of the glass.
Alex Carrigan (he/him) is a Pushcart-nominated editor, poet, and critic from Alexandria, VA. He is the author of Now Let’s Get Brunch (Querencia Press, 2023) and May All Our Pain Be Champagne (Alien Buddha Press, 2022). He has appeared in HAD, fifth wheel press, Sage Cigarettes, JAKE, Inlandia Journal, and more. Visit carriganak.wordpress.com or follow him on Twitter @carriganak for more info.