My friend Miranda has accompanied me here for moral support. We scale a no-frills metal staircase at the end of an alleyway behind the high street, where a weary blond woman is ruling a domain of coats, cash and lists. She has a defeated manner, like the only sober person at a party when everyone is drunk. I have no idea why I decided to make myself look so dowdy.
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One night in Sydney, I was a little taken by a year-old woman in a gay bar. A mutual friend introduced us, and we proceeded to have a curious conversation about color — or as she would have said, colour. She was a chatty and congenial Aussie, with a distinctive no-bullshit edge. There are too many of those in Sydney… and Cape Town… and New York City… and pretty much everywhere with thriving gay nightlife!
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