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Heads smashed as lovers kiss, their affection replaced with blood, as
some dickless fuck shows off his ignorance, his intolerance. Amidst
confusion, heads still spining, both still thinking clear enough to know
this wasn't random, it wasn't accidental. So tough. So cool.

Later on that night bragging to his friends about the dykes he fucked
up on St Denis. They laugh, pat his back, and pour another beer.
They'd bashed another queer. Instilling fear. More fear. It was fear
that caused it.

And so we try to deny that this hate permeates, and there's no way we'll
give up on this fight or put up with this shit ever again.

Meanwhile, back at home, the
girls aren't lying down. A week later dozens kiss on that same spot.
Queers. Fags. Dykes. So where were you then, big man?