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at Mac for assistance. He was shaking a margarita in one hand and pulling draught beer with another.

"Whoops. Gotta go."

Mac turned and Demarco's eyes lingered low on his Levis as he walked toward the thirsty

group.

"That's some man you got there. Still the hottest thing on 17th Street."

He turned back to Alec whose eyes were distant, lost in reverie.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing. Why?"

"Because you look like Drew Barrymore inScreamright before the shit started happening."

"It's nothing."

"Liar," said Demarco. And then in his best Wendy Williams…"How you doing?"

Alec sighed. "Just wondering about life… career… crap."

"What's to wonder? You make good money doing what you want. You have a hot bartender

boyfriend, and you live in DC's finest gay mecca."

"It's thedoing what you wantpart."

Demarco's expression changed, just a little. He raised his drink with his eyebrows,

inquisitively.

Alec turned toward him on the stool. "I'm sick of the column. I know it's a good gig. But I can't keep writing about young gay life in DC when I'm in my thirties."

"She's no longer Carrie Bradshaw."

"Exactly."

"Can you modify? Steer it toward gay menyourage in the city?"

"I suppose. But I'm not sure I want to. I may be sick of writing about gayanything."

"What else is there?"

"Plenty. I miss music."

"Oh, Lord… here she goes about Tower Records again."

"I don't miss retail. I just miss the people I worked with, the diversity, the music. I think I'd like to try to write something about music."

"Don't quit your day job."

"No, I wouldn't. Couldn't. The money's too good. But I feel like I need to take some time… at least give something new a shot."

"What's stopping you?"

"Fear. I've been doing the essays so long, I don't know if I can write anything else."