Smaller and smaller

My field of vision. I am already sipping on the Red Bull. Eww. I hope it works. It will make it almost worth the torture of drinking the stuff.

The Dyke March was on the Saturday before the bit Pride Parade, here in Manhattan. We convened in Bryant Park and then made our way to Fifth Avenue. We marched down Fifth Avenue from the main branch of the New York Public Library (the one with the lions in front of it, very impressive edifice) all the way to Washington Square Park. Through much of the march it rained; but spirits were high, and we had cheerleaders, and a woman flashing us from a showcase window on the third floor of a building in the 20s (as I recall), a couple of topless marchers. A woman who was watching the march with her male companion handed us her umbrella. A woman who looked like Yenta the Matchmaker handed out punch in the Village. There were official Dyke March water givers too.

Flags and drums and flyers and every style known. It was a fine day, and it was really so empowering to feel part of such a large community.

I’m glad I got to have that experience. I wish I could do it more justice. But hey, it’s 4 in the morning, and way past my bedtime. I think K and Wanda are sleeping already. N should be joining them in that state soon. Maybe not … he’s calling …

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