Bleeding Fiction

Back when I moved to Seattle, I got off the plane at 10am and had signed my lease by 5pm. I took a little longer, finding a place in Syracuse. I had a job now; an income. So I could afford to live in a place, in an area, more to my liking than the tiny apartment in the noisy University District I had before I moved. It was four days, then, before I found my current apartment.

But I don't want to talk about that today. I want to talk about the area I live in, first. I'm about 25 minutes walk from Syracuse University - on the other side of Eerie Boulevard, near the intersection of 690 and 81 (for those who know Syracuse reasonably well). It's a nice little community, if getting a bit gentrified.

You can actually see it as you walk down my street, all within the space of three blocks. Start on S. Crouse and walk towards Armory Square. The houses start sort of ramshackle; peeling paint, worn wood, drooping eaves. The next block, things get nicer; you've got straight wood and fresh paint. Half a block before mine, and things are very nice indeed; There's a lot of new brick by where I live.

I also live in what is apparently Syracuse's gay district. An increase in tolerance is common in gentrified areas, but the realization of whole thing's been a little funny. I met some of my neighbors a few days after I moved in. "Hi, my name's Will," said one of the men as I walked past them, where they were sitting on their porch. "And this is my husband, Joe." I didn't think gay marriage was legal in New York state, but rock on.

A few days later, I was looking for a present for Marie. Just around the corner from my house is a store called The Lavender Inkwell. I thought it was a card-shop or something. I figured I might get Marie an empty notebook to take to Norway. What is it really? Gay bookshop. The owners looked at me really funny when I went in there; I opted not to buy any of the leather magazines.

Last week, I saw an interracial couple gay walking down the street, arm-in-arm. I thought of Scrubs right away.

Today I met the proprietor of the hair salon on the corner of the street, while he was talking with one of my afore-mentioned neighbors. His goatee is a bit much, but he did invite me to stop in and say hi, read the magazines, have some of his fabulous cookies (no, I am not making that up).

I've always described Syracuse as a busted boom-town filled with bikers, townies and unemployed line-workers. I think of it, like I do most of upstate New York, as staunchly conservative. I never really figured it was the sort of town where you'd find a sizable and out gay community.

Live and learn.