Through the entire performance, Nick’s hand crept like an invader into his lovers lap. The moment the the curtain fell, Nick pulled Charles out of his seat and down into the lobby, tripping over his feet, to get to the car, to get home, or at least, their back seat, if they couldn’t hold themselves long enough to get to their bed. They spilled out of the Wilma Theater into the summer night.
The heat of the day had cooled in that brightly lit evening. It was the middle of the Fringe Festival in the city, theater in every empty space and street-corner. Out on Broad Street, the police had roped off two blocks and the festival had set up a giant screen and fifty chairs.
They were showing Loony Toons, and Nick and Charles walked to the middle of the street to watch the end of the show. The music of the cartoons played, and there was no traffic, just people laughing and the lights of Broad Street. Charles and Nick stood in the middle of that big street, under all those lights, like it was their own room, their own world, like they owned the place, and they kissed, everyone watching.
That’s all, folks.