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“My grip loosened on the wheel. Or was it, the world? It was such a small, passing moment. Which is where many of our monumental shifts happen. It is not the grand stage, but the quiet kitchen, the silent dining room, the bedrooms, the drives home, where gayness, my gayness, reveals itself. Drag shows are spectacles. Television shows provide a comforting illusion that life progresses. That we no longer need to live in fear. But we do. We do live in fear.”

“To be attracted to another man in a violent place seems akin to a ticking bomb, logging, strip-mining, fracking. The American West is the playground for the country’s obsession with exploitation and destruction, with most extractive economies near Native American reservations. There are increased rates of birth defects. Higher rates of cancer. Violent people who mimic the violence done to the land. BOOM. And where there’s danger, there’s room for trespassing. And where there’s trespassing, there’s room for mischief.”

“The prairie I grew up on teaches you to notice, to pay attention. The yolk of the sun as it slides across the dome of the sky streaking the world orange and indigo. The swish of grass in afternoon breeze. The screech of a grackle. During the Golden hour on the prairie, the North Dakota palette reveals the subtle differences between ochre, umber, and sienna.”

“I mentioned how I had lived in the oil boom. I described the buttes of the badlands. The smell of the sage. The yolk-yellow breasts of the sage grass. How if you sat long enough, waited for the golden hour, then the entire sweep of the badlands surged into a riot of reds and purples and golds. I told him how there were ponderosa pines tucked into the southwestern pocket of North Dakota, but that they looked shrimpy compared to the ones here, in the rain-forest of the Olympics.”