When strippers would be drenched in a sea of glitter. I would hug my favorite stripper and have it on me so thick that no matter how much I rubbed I couldn't get it off me. After leaving the club was always an adventure. Well I actually enjoyed those days...thoroughly.
I would strut down the street, shine and sparkle. Do it a little twist, a little sugar shake, a little boogie bake, glow and glimmer. I was shooting star...personified.
I would jump up on the podium, extend my arms and yell "CHA!" And all the townsfolk would flee in terror at how sexy I was, I would glow like the sun.
The children in the neighborhood would hem and haw. Laugh hysterically at me, call me faggot of the century. Me, in response, hands and voice shaking, tears streaming down for the face would answer: "Well this, this, this fag's got sheen, this..deep breath...this fag's got gleen" I told them off. I sure showed them. (They were 7, they were 7)
Oh how I missed those days.

