Page 99 of The Bro Pact
We wait for the crosswalk to light up, and then we hustle across the street, hand in hand.
When we stroll in and look around, we pause for a moment, expecting to find some of the Giants fans we hopped on the bus with, not a bar full of older gay men.
“We may as well get a drink while we’re here, I don’t want to be rude and just leave,” I mutter under my breath.
“They have a really nice sidewalk patio, let’s order beers at the bar and head outside for some people watching.”
We make our way to the patio, choosing a table by the little black fence so we have front row seats to all the excitement that seems to be happening in the streets.
A couple of old guys walk past us, heading toward the bar entrance.
“Aw. Look, Harold. Two baby gays. How precious.”
“I . . . I’m not . . .What?” I stumble over my words, heat rushing to my cheeks.
And of course, Ren just smiles like the cat that got the canary.
“Honey,” Harold admonishes, shushing the other man, presumably his husband, based on the wedding rings around their fingers.
Harold’s husband places a hand to his heart, apologizing immediately. “How presumptuous of me. I’m so sorry. Please forgive me? I’m Steven.”
There isn’t a malicious bone in this man’s body, so we all shake hands, chit-chatting a bit before they head inside to meet friends.
“You want another beer?” Ren asks before declaring quite abruptly that he needs to take a piss.
“Uh. Sure, thanks.”
“Okay, be right back.” Ren hops up, disappearing inside.
Slouching in my seat, I take a deep breath and stare out at the bustling neighborhood full of art, life, and so much color. An organic produce stand across the street catches my eye with its rainbow selection of fruits and vegetables. The simple displays of pride everywhere bring a small smile to my face.
I like it here, and today was a blast, especially getting to see the Giants beat their rivals.
“Dude!” Ren’s loud voice interrupts my thoughts. “The bathroom smells like fresh-baked cookies! I shit you not!”
My nose scrunches up, and my brows pull together. “Gross, bro.What?”
“The shitter smells like cookies,” Warren says very, very slowly, sounding each word out as if I’m too drunk to understand him at regular speed.
Steven comes outside again, catching the tail end of it, his tinkling laughter floating around me.
“It’s true. The bathrooms that share a wall with the cookie shop next door also share a ventilation shaft.”
“Hah! Told you!” Ren shouts, and I shake my head because I never said I didn’t believe him.
“Well, I’ll take your word for it because I don’t go around sniffing public bathrooms,” I deadpan.
“Fair point,” Ren chuckles before plopping back down in his seat.
After another round, we head out to explore more of the neighborhood.
We discover murals, art installations, and even rainbow crosswalks—taking selfies with it all. I’m enjoying the Castro way more than I thought I would, and soon the daylight starts to fade.
I hiccup, feeling a little sleepy and a lot drunk after a long day of activities and lots of beer. “I’m getting kinda tired, wanna head back?” I ask after we stagger from our third bar.
“Mhm. Yeah, we better get going before it’s completely dark.”
We take the bus out of the city, catching an Uber the rest of the way home, and I’ve never been so relieved to see Carmen.
