Maximilian Johnsson

Fat and Fab Femboy

I’m standing at the crosswalk, Broadway Rector street. Behind me, men in business suits blend together with adolescents in turtlenecks, carrying yoga mats. They hurriedly stream in between the green lamp posts of Wall street station and disappear into the underground in order to avoid the rain. The brim of my pants dig into my waist, the thin white belt just a little bit too tight. Liquid golden liner round my eyes, re-liquefied and running in the rain. Next to me the neo-Gothic towers of Trinity Church are reaching for the skies, and six feet under a polished miniature obelisk lies Alexander Hamilton. The red hand of the traffic light keeps me from crossing. There he comes, down the sandstone steps of Broadway 65, tryingly reaching out a hand to feel the rain. The love of my life.