I’m in my bed and the room is rotating but very softly and slowly. Do you remember when you first ever started to drink, like your brain didn’t know what was going on and the world Ferris-wheeled and it was like, “Oh my God, what is happening to me?!” But now, it’s just so gentle and warm. It’s lovely. I feel so fond right now, thinking of you. I feel warm but not hot or sweaty. I’m in my nightgown; I got a new one, shimmering red and embroidered with black lace. I feel perfect. It’s a good night. I’m glad I decided to write to you.

Last night, this girl posted that someone in a van had thrown a bottle at her on Sargent (that kind of thing’s been happening more around here lately), and she was hurt and really freaked out and felt like she was going to do something bad.

Like usual, I started to reply in the comment box. Then I stopped. I shut the laptop. Put it under the bed. And something in my heart unknotted and pulled loose. I felt still and at peace. I haven’t even opened it back up since then. It’s the best thing. It’s an incredible thing, to be free.

I think about you all the time. Someone put an armchair out by the Dumpster just a few minutes ago, and already, it looks like it’s covered in feathers. Write me back, if you can. It’s really looking so lovely out here.

OBSOLUTION

David’s face ached. It was the day after she’d moved into her new place; she was at a party Ridwan had invited her to in Prospect Heights and she didn’t recognize one person, and in fact, judging from Ridwan’s texts, it was starting to sound like they might not actually come. Everybody was six inches shorter than her and many of them smelled good. David inched through the crowd like a monster. Her hair was in a ponytail and she wore a dress with yellow flowers. Athens Boys Choir was playing, and people were singing along. “I’m an F-A-G-E-T-T-E …”

The trans man couple back in Portland had taken David to an Athens Boys Choir show years ago. David missed those two.

She’d come to the party after her shift. On the walk to the train, a hipster girl smoking under an awning spied David, turned to a baby-faced guy in a hoodie, and said, “I’m so over boys in dresses.” On the walk from the train, some dudes elbowed each other and said, “It’s a maaaan!”

None of this was remarkable. David was just tired.

She went into the kitchen for water. A small girl in a black polkadot dress was there, leaning against the counter, drinking a glass of milk.

“Excuse me,” David said brusquely, motioning to the sink.

“Sorry.” The girl made way. “Hey! Don’t you live with Ridwan?”

“Not anymore. I just moved.”

“You’re from Oregon, right?”

“Sadly.”

The girl laughed. “Me too. Hi. That’s all.” She had razor-sharp black bangs, heavy eyeliner and lipstick, and her dress was shiny and crinkly. She was dolled up right on a line between girlfriend and porn star.