I did a reading at a gay bookstore called a Brother’s Touch. It was what I’d feared it might be, lots of rainbow-striped flags and wind socks. My mike was set up in the magazine section, so behind me were pictures of all sorts of men, some in jockstraps, some with gags that looked like Ping-Pong balls in their mouths. What killed me, though, was the incense, which was coconut, I think.
