They call the place “Paradise”, though it could more accurately be deemed “The fall from grace.” It is narrow, dark, and filled to the brim with all ages of men. Videos of sex are broadcast above the bar. Tony dragged me there, which should surprise no one. He immediately left my side to go talk to the stripper dancing in the corner. And so I was alone.

I feel like one is never more alone then when he is standing in a crowded gay club. There are so many lights and sounds and bodies that one can easily be lost in the commotion. However, one is never lost, because there are wandering eyes well-primed to stare, assess, and determine if you are as you should be. As you are desired to be. And desire creates distance.

I decided not to become a victim of vision, so I took refuge on the dancefloor. I thought a moving target might keep them all at bay, and besides, the loud thumpings and whizzings of music didn’t really give me much of a choice. What I found there has had me laughing ever since: men were lined up along the mirrored wall, waving their arms and staring at themselves. Intently. Round and round and round. All of a sudden my ideas on desire were shattered. These people weren’t looking at eachother, no, they were consumed with their own image. As all are. And then I understood that when people are staring at others, they are actually just hoping to glimpse them staring back. Looking to be looked at. And that is what keeps them from eachother.