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"
Everyone
knows
what
sexy
means
,
"
he
said
.
Everyone
but
me
,
I
guess
.
But
that
night
,
I
kind
of
learned
.
When
we
trick
-
or
-
treated
with
Teddy
,
my
own
neighbors
who
’
d
known
me
for
years
didn
’
t
recognize
me
.
Guys
who
’
d
never
given
me
a
second
glance
did
a
double
take
.
And
every
time
that
happened
,
I
felt
a
little
bit
more
like
the
risky
sexy
chick
I
was
pretending
to
be
.
Fake
it
till
you
make
it
actually
worked
.
The
club
where
Shooting
Star
was
playing
was
packed
.
Everyone
was
in
costume
,
most
of
the
girls
in
the
kinds
of
racy
getups
—
cl
*
*
vage
-
baring
French
maids
,
whip
-
wielding
dominatrixes
,
slutty
Wizard
of
Oz
Dorothys
with
skirts
hiked
up
to
show
their
ruby
garters
—
that
normally
made
me
feel
like
a
big
oaf
.
I
didn
’
t
feel
oafish
at
all
that
night
,
even
if
nobody
seemed
to
recognize
that
I
was
wearing
a
costume
.
"
You
were
supposed
to
dress
up
,
"
a
skeleton
guy
chastised
me
before
offering
me
a
beer
.
"
I
f
*
*
king
LOVE
those
pants
,
"
a
flapper
girl
screamed
into
my
ear
.
"
Did
you
get
them
in
Seattle
?
"
"
Aren
’
t
you
in
the
Crack
House
Quartet
?
"
a
guy
in
a
Hillary
Clinton
mask
asked
me
,
referring
to
some
hard
-
core
band
that
Adam
loved
and
I
hated
.
When
Shooting
Star
went
on
,
I
didn
’
t
stay
backstage
,
which
is
what
I
normally
did
.
Backstage
I
could
sit
on
a
chair
and
have
an
uninterrupted
view
and
not
have
to
talk
to
anybody
.
This
time
,
I
lingered
out
by
the
bar
,
and
then
,
when
the
flapper
girl
grabbed
me
,
I
joined
her
dancing
in
the
mosh
pit
.
I
’
d
never
gone
into
the
mosh
pit
before
.
I
had
little
interest
in
running
around
in
circles
while
drunk
,
brawny
boys
in
leather
trod
on
my
toes
.
But
tonight
,
I
totally
got
into
it
.
I
understood
what
it
was
like
to
merge
your
energy
with
the
mob
’
s
and
to
absorb
theirs
as
well
.
How
in
the
pit
,
when
things
got
going
,
you
weren
’
t
so
much
walking
or
dancing
as
being
sucked
into
a
whirlpool
.
