On Parade

I’m in Denver, buying tickets at the Denver Pavillions Regal Cinema.

The guy in the ticket booth has wiry, receeding hair, a wide face, and a leering grin. As he prints my tickets, he leans in too close to me and asks, “Enjoy the parade?”

Hours earlier, downtown Denver played host to this year’s Gay Pride Parade. Had Clyde been with me, I would have made a point to see it; since I’m here alone — and since I had a book signing scheduled at the same time — I skipped it.

So: I know this guy is talking about the Gay Pride Parade … but there’s somethning about him that really irritates me, so I decide to play dumb. “Parade?”

He blinks. “The big parade.”

I shake my head. “Sorry.”

“You know,” he says, leaning in so close I can smell the Fritos on his breath. “The…” He pauses. He deliberately skips a word. “Pride Parade.”

I shrug. “I’ve been in a trade show all day.”

He frowns. He licks his lips. He slowly and deliberately looks me up and down. “You sure you’re not here for the Pride Parade?”

“I’m here to see Land of the Dead,” I say. “So what were the paraders proud of, exactly?”

Suddenly self-conscious, he stops leering and leans back on his stool. “Just a parade,” he says. “Enjoy your show.”