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Alec and Demarco sat close to each other, tight to the bar because B.J.'s was packed with a

huge chunk of Washington D.C.'s finest, freshest, and hottest gay men. Of course, B.J.'s was always packed, but Tuesday Tunes was the one night the place was usually filled beyond capacity.

Surrounding them was every variety of homosexuals, all ages, sizes, ethnicities, and classes, belting out the likes of Judy Garland, Betty Buckley, and Patti LuPone. It was a collective of sorts,

experienced weekly amongst a mass of diverse men—unique solidarity if you will, as brief as

Brigadoon, corralled musically by show-tunes and the glamour of Broadway divas past and present.

"Surely the irony of this is not lost on you," Alec asked Demarco. "Nothin' Like a Dame…

really?"

"They may be singing about women, but shirtless sailors are on their minds."

TV monitors were in every corner of the alley-shaped bar, high and low, large and small,

running clips from various musicals—South Pacificcurrently—as well as a crawl of the lyrics below for those less tutored in musical vernacular.

"Look ather," Demarco shouted, squeezing even tighter with Alec and pointing.

The man in question was a mailman, a big burly bear. There was no question that he was a

mailman as he was still in uniform. He had a beer mug in one thick hairy fist and was belting louder and with more animation than any of those surrounding him.

"He sounds good," Alec said, grinning with approval. Nothing validated his being part of this community more than these Tuesdays here with D.

"And he's kinda cute…" Demarco said. "…in aWild Kingdomsort of way."

"You're the single one. And he's a little too burly for me."

"Oh, please. He's a baby bear. I'd feed him a big bottle."

Alec choked mid-sip, beer burning his nostrils. He gazed left through watery eyes. "Wait a

minute." He said, nudging Demarco, "Is that—"

"Yeah, I think so," Demarco said. "I saw him come in."

The person in question was on the opposite end of the bar from the singing mailman. His face

was familiar but somewhat disguised.

"Representing the sovereign state of South Carolina…" said Demarco, in his deepest southern flare.

Alec wasn't completely convinced but he sure didlooka lot like the familiar senator, sans suit, and tie. That was the magic of B.J.'s, its siren call and promise of fresh beef often lured even the deepest of political closet cases out to play. Maybe not as many as during the prior administration, but still.

"I miss seeing Barney here."

"Everybody does," said Demarco. "But Little Miss Thing over there is hiding beneath a ball cap and glasses. Barney would be buying us a round and belting it out with the mailman."

"Speaking of which," said Alec, noticing the muscled, shirtless bartender bringing their drinks.

"Compliments of Mac," he shouted over the music.

"Thanks, sweetie," said Demarco, pushing his empty highball toward the hunky booze-slinger.