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debris

an obscure location

for unusual art objects

by Toby Price

collectibles, practicals, memorabilia, old clothes, fabulous selection of old prints, lace, linens, one-of-a-kina items & gitts

Special things for special people

2800 Mayfield #208

(above Pet World)

Mon. thru Sat. Noon to 6 or by appointment 464-0981 WE BUY & SELL

DESIGN LIRES

WES

PRECISION HAIR CUTTING AND DESIGN

2800 MAYFIELD ROAD AT COVENTRY

ROOM 206 (ABOVE PET WORLD)

LUTHERANS CONCERNED

FOR GAY PEOPLE

Invites inquiry from sincerely interested Ohioans gay and non-gay, male and female, black and white, clergy and laity.

For details write

LUTHERANS CONCERNED, P.O. Box 134 Dayton, OH 45401

Book Mart

PRICE$BREAKTHRU!

SAVE ON

LOCKER ROOM AROMA

1 B $5

2 Hottle $8

3 Bottles $10

LOCKER ROOM Aroma of Men

NET WEIGHT 302

SAVE

STURDY ALUMINUM INHALERS

$5.95

MAIL ORDERS TO:

ea.

BOOK MART

17 N. Chestnut St. Youngstown, OH 44503

Ohio Residents Add 4% Sales Tax DEALERS' INQUIRIES INVITED

HIGH GEAR

THE QUEENS

By David Akers

She turns slowly, toweringly, placing two fingers to her left cheek, never changing the glassy stare that grazes the

-She turns again, still gliding slowly through the crowd, thoroughly alone. Now she stops, frozen into two

stony isolation in her fixed eyes threatens, baits, dares one to take her genderfuck seriously, to be drawn into her maze, only to become hopelessly lost in vapors of anesthetic numbness. Her black, ungloved hand leaves its light perch upon her hip, shattering the frieze, only to slowly sweep, open, across her eyes, like a shabby fan split in several places, permitting a coy, little-girl peek. The gloved hand clenches, and coils, with its arm, into a slowly unfolding flexing of powerful biceps.

room. Her other hand, the white-dimensions, a bad relief; the gloved one, pirouettes gravely above her head, now pointing outward, now barely touching her raised ski goggles and stocking cap. Gradually, she begins to glide slowly through❘ the dance floor, unsure of her six inch platform shoes, one hand arched over the heads of other dancers, her girl scout sash occasionally catching on a sleeve or lapel. Suddenly, her hand comes out of the air to grab at a piece of the tinsel suspended from the lights and mirrored ball overhead: It has become entangled in one of her large ear hoops, as well as her thick, tufted beard.

And I am growing to hate that fool down the bar from me. Such bluster is offensive. In the mirror behind the bar, I am watching his drunken leer swerve from one side to another; I shall try to ignore him, and speak with my friends. But he and his friends are so loud, so smashed; they intrude. The big one's the worst, but his friends! couple of obsequious little queens, skinny frames tilting about on barstools; middle-aged, crackling falsetto cackles penetrating through the disco tunes. Forget this. Gary and Michael have been bumping away, Gary's hand caressing the far half of Mike's ass with each bump, but now they're on the dance floor, and just Mitch and I are sitting here, not saying much. Oh, Christ, the drunk is coming this way--

The drunk cowboy is gradually working his way along the bar, his ladies in tow, all harassing various drinkers. The drinkers ignore, the drunk assaults, and the queens titter, and give him a prop.

I'm sitting here, wondering what Mitch is so quiet about; by the third beer, he's usually talking his tongue off. But notice that he has his eyes on the drunk, also. "Oh, God, Donnie, that guy's gonna bug hell out of me. Every time he sees me, he has to drive me crazy. It's inevitable. Just ignore him, but he will do his damndest to pick a fight. He has the hots for me, and I'm not about to give him the time of day, let alone encourage the fool. Jesus, Donnie."

"Maybe Michael and Gary will come back. God, what a redneck!" -

--And still she turns, interminably slowly, a barely

JANUARY 1977

animate column among the crowd of flashing scarves, lame' shirts, sweating torsos, heavily ringed, snapping fingers, and accidentally perfect, sprayed hair! She is an anchor for sight. The air burns of Aramis and patchouli and cigarette smoke and amyl nitrate, yet she is cool, untouched by flame and the etchings of body chemicals.

The drunk is behind us. He's standing back there sizing it all up with his two queens. I can't see the other two very clearly through the smoke and darkness, but the cowboy comes through, unfortunately, graphically. He should be at a

pro wrestling match, not here. Probably about forty-five: Something off a 1953 Wildroot Hair Tonic poster in a barber shop yesterday's smooth come to grease. Cowboy, here, is complete, from the pointed boots with the studded inlays up the sides, to the light blue, loose-fitting leisure suit with bolo tie, and American flag lapel pin, to the pointed side-burns and slick ducktail. Every time he speaks, the queens giggie and say, "Go on, go on!" Cowboy yucks it up. Sounds like when he left Texas, nobody had any accent left he took it all. I just can't believe this guy. I wish he'd vanish without a trace. But just my luck: His hair oil would leave a trail.

Oh. Shit.

He claps one arm around each of us, Mitch and me, and he is introducing himself. "Hello, there, boys, my name's Buck Jones, like the movie cowboy. Yep, good man; he was my granddaddy -do you believe it? But look at this hole here b'tween the two of you. You're here together aren't you? How come you're not sittin' up all close an' nice an' tight like a couple of lovers oughta be? You're not lovers? Are you sure you're here together? Doesn't look like it. Well, boys, you see that ol' boy down the bar, yeah, that one, he used to be my ol' man a few years ago, don't pay a mite to him, he is an ol' man. Yeah, most of these guys here are old men. I'm thirty-two, an' roarin' hotter 'n anythin' in this bar, believe it."

He moves in a step closer between us and wraps his arms a little closer, a little tighter. Mitch and I are ignoring this idiot. Maybe he'll vanish. "You sure you two are together? Doesn't look like it." He looks at me. "If I was you, I'd do like Jerry Lee Lewis Shave real close, live fast, die young. This little lady next to you here's as slick as hot snot on a glass doorknob -I'd sit real close, put my arm around that beauty, and put my feet up on the bar. You sure you're together? Doesn't look like it. This lady's too good to pass up. How's come you're not sittin' closer to her?

He turns around for approval from the two bent corset stays behind him. "Buck, you're too much." Giggle. One laughs, but doesn't talk much; I can see her in the mirror, somewhat and she looks very prim not really drag, just some half-hearted, but very lady-like make-up. Both