June, 2017
Yesterday afternoon was the annual celebration of Pride in Chicago, taking place entirely along Boystown, the city's popular section featuring the gay community. Ever since high school, I've always attended the parade with a different group but with the same purpose, to support and have a good time. It almost always is, except for ludicrous moments of stupidity and arrogance from the drunken bastards thirsty for action and drama. The predominance of these issues rises not from the parade, but from the transit to and from the scenery, which is half the action in total.
Reaching the Loop, my group chit-chatted and exchanged potential plans for the day. At one stop, we were approached by a muscled individual with a tank top and loose pants, a troublemaker for the sights of the night where hell breaks loose for those who come into contact with these fools. It wasn't the fact that their presence was unworthy, it was the fact that he kept staring at all the women in the car, and quite openly I might add. I have my fair share of spectating the ladies of the world, but not as creepy and obvious as this gay creep. He even stared at my group for many moments as well when he got closer to us. The lesbians behind us showed faces of contempt and extreme caution as soon as they glimpsed into his demeanor: a sad soul hungry for party fluids without the courage to greet another individual. It was maddening to witness this phenomenon. What could he have done, honestly? What would he have said? Would the train car filled with the powerhouse members of the rainbow community have retaliated if the dude were to spring into nonsensical and inappropriate action?
Man, that would've been cool to witness.
