the red dust kicked up by the old pick up looked like dried scabs blowing in the wind

he had his hat pulled down low as he bounced with the worn out suspension

the stereo was turned up loud

lee ving was screaming about how he doesn’t care about you

and he sang along

but his you and lee’s you were different beasts altogether

and he did care about his you

and that made it all the harder to drive and foster hostility to mask the hurt

his you was just another stupid boy in another stupid town

just another stupid victim of what seemed to be rampant stupidity all around

everybody made fun of the gay cowboy trying his hardest to lasso a bear

small town big old bigotry

none of it mattered

what difference did it make that he found a beard more sensual than plucked eyebrows and a push up bra

he still worked the farm

fished and hunted and drank beer

but they couldn’t handle it

didn’t want to face the fact that it didn’t make him less of a man for loving another man

hell

he guessed half of them felt the same fucking way but were too afraid or ashamed to admit it

it didn’t matter

not one bit

or so he told himself as fear screamed about starting a war and the red dust flew like dried blood through the air behind him

he was him and that was all there was to it

if others wanted to pretend they could choke on the misery that life will give

but he would make his way

and it would be like sid vicious singing it

he just wished it didn’t hurt so bad