Debbie, 37
Yeah, I recognized her. Said her name was Jessica, but I knew who she was. Why didn’t I call the police? I had empathy. Ever heard of it? Also for a while I thought she was a police officer. Uniform and everything. Look, it was a busy night and she was pretty quiet. Kept downing bourbons. Had a notepad and a pen. Seemed like some kind of romantic writer, we get a lot of those. I asked her what she was writing and she covered up her notepad all defensive, like I just caught her writing in her diary. She told me, “My story.” I was like, right on, okay. Write your story. Then she started talking to this regular, but then they started fighting. I try not to pay too much attention. She left behind her notepad. Just had a bunch of flowers all over it. All these squiggles. All these arrows pointing nowhere.
Catrina, 22
I came up to her because she seemed lonely. Reminded me of my tía. I feel sad around old single lesbians, but also I feel a little in awe of them. Anyway, I brought this up to her, which I admit might have been insensitive, but I was just looking for advice, I guess, and she got super defensive, talking bout how she isn’t a lesbian, how that’s disgusting, how that’s a sin, and I was like, okay, so why did you come here? She couldn’t answer me. She looked back down at her drink. I made to leave, and I thought I heard her say, “Don’t go.”