Into the winding night, we danced. Men who were women, women who wished they could be men, a man with his eyes closed but gentlemanly nonetheless. At one point, they switched outfits on me, and I realized this experience would be a keeper. I held them all in my arms at some point or perhaps in my mind’s eye, but I held them. They lodged this night into my brain just as birthday girl’s tongue seemed to lodge itself in my throat in the best of moments. Can we be sure it wasn’t my birthday too? My best buddy seared the evening’s memory into my mind forever because pictures could not bring justice or forgiveness to the way we felt tonight as we danced. I wore a USO, golden, glittering marching band hat and tights that were misspelled. I will sit here, sipping wine, contemplating a kind of beauty I may never understand but will die trying.