In a fit of illogical drunkenness,—

•60/ —Pan paints his face with heavy eye makeup, the full drag of gender transformation, bending masculine drives into an angular femininity, caking on layers of foundations, wine-red lips smeared with paint, over rogue’d cheeks mimicking the blushing female he can never be— and with a final flare, he drapes a veil across his naked body, bare shoulders carrying the full weight of comic indifference as he prances circles across his living room floor, reassigned, refurbished, realigned into something new.
•