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Previous Chapters in the Beef Matson Archive - Chapters 1 to 4
Beef Matson Archive - Chapter 5 to 7
Beef Matson Archive - Chapter 8
Beef Matson Archive - Chapter 9
Beef Matson Archive - Chapter 10
The Final Chapter, A PERSON IN A POSTION OF TRUST

© 2005 - 2006 Rick Chris
Illustrations and photos ©2005- 2006 Rick Chris

Chapter 11: It Came Upon A Midnight Queer

"One day, if I do go to heaven, I'm going to do what every San Franciscan does who goes to heaven. I'll look around and say, It ain't bad, but it ain't San Francisco." - Herb Caen

*******
"…You've just come out of the closet."

Randy and Brett found themselves in a dark, quiet place. When the couple had left the other worldly disco, several other men had left with them. Now they all were together in this darkness. Staying close to Brett and leaning against him, Randy felt around in the darkness. "Where are we…what sort of place is this?" asked Randy. "Wherever we are, there doesn't seem to be a lot of room in here." "We were supposed to come back to a place familiar to you," replied Brett, "Do you recognize anything?" "Sorry, complete total darkness all looks the same to me" Randy, Brett and the other men seemed to be bumping up against walls and they could move no further. "Wait a minute," alerted Randy, "I can feel something. "It feels like…like…a…a…clothes hanger? What is this place…Joan Crawford hell? Wait a minute, coats. A bunch of coats hanging on a rod." "I feel something in front of me," announced Brett, "It's a door, here's the doorknob." Brett turned the knob, slowly opening the door and light entered their little domain, illuminating a collection of hanging coats, some dresses and shelves above them. As Brett opened the door wider, he found himself looking on a scene of two women fitting a third woman for a dress. "I know where we are," exclaimed Randy, "this is Tic and Tac's shop, we're back in the building I work in, where Beef Matson's office is. We've come back."

*******
"My, aren't we wasteful, throwing away a perfectly good man like this, and a good looking one at that."

A lone car was making its way across an interstate highway bridge, its headlights reflected off a pavement made wet by a light drizzle. As the vehicle approached the highest point at the center of the bridge, it began to slow and pulled over near to the railing. The car continued to move slowly as if the driver were unsure where to stop. Finally, the car came to a halt. Inside, the lone occupant, a male driver spoke to himself as he put on the car's emergency flashers. "No point in causing harm to anybody else, " he spoke, "put the flashers on so nobody runs into the car."

The man looked at the clock in the dashboard, it was slightly after one in the morning. He looked out over the water of the great river extending out from under the bridge to the horizon. Above there was a cloudy November sky, puffy and gray highlighted in sections from the lights of nearby towns. The man continued to sit for a few moments more fiddling with the tuning knob of the radio. He was surprised by hearing stations that seemed to be from years bygone.
"That's weird," he said aloud, "must be some kind of nostalgia week going on, all these stations must be playing tapes of old shows."
The man stiffened in his seat, marshaling his resolve.
"Time to get this show on the road."
The man opened the car door, paused a bit then took a deep breath and got out of the car. He looked around at the cold, lonely scene, pausing again, failing to notice the light bending distortions swirling about the bridge. Then he slammed the car door leaving the keys in the ignition and the car running. The man looked over to the bridge railing, the cold, moist air playing with his hair and teasing his eyes. He folded his arms against the cold. His jacket didn't seem to offer much protection from the cold, yet the reason he had driven to this high point on the bridge, made protection from the cold pointless. He took another deep breath.
"Be a man, Carl and take your medicine. Let's get this over with."

The breeze was a bit more brisk now with the drizzle stinging his face slightly as the man walked around the front of his car and approached the bridge railing. He grasped a steel rod, one of many secured the bridge deck to the arch overhead. The man looked about him and saw no other cars on the bridge, a truly lonely place in the wee small hours of the morning. Hoisting himself up and grasping onto the steel rods, the man stood on the wide, flat railing looking out. The river below was very dark, but it was still very easy to see how far above the water he was. The man's fear of the great height was overruled by his melancholy. Breathing heavily, he edged closer to the railing edge. Suddenly, there was a voice coming from the roadway.
"Hey, this is a nice car. What kind is it?"
Grasping the steel rods, the man on the railing turned about gazing with an amazed expression at another man who was standing next to his car. Where could this man have come from and was he so dense that he could not see what was going on? The man standing next to his car yelled out his question again.
"I said what kind of car is this?"
Shaking his head in irritation, the man on the railing yelled back, "What…who cares? It's a Cadillac Allante."
"Nice car, what year?"
"It's a '90. If you want it, you can have it. The keys are in the car. Just leave me alone."
The man near the car continued to check it out. "It's a dandy looking car all right, I may just take you up on your offer. By the way, what year is it?"
"I said it's a '90."
"No, I mean like what's the date? What calendar year is this? 1989, 1990…"
"What is wrong with you? It's 1991. Where's your car? Did you walk all the way out here on this bridge? This is not the place to be if you're strung out on something…walking on this bridge. You could get hit by a car."
"Oh no," chuckled the other man, "I just got here. That's why I wasn't sure of the year. If you're willing to have let me have your car, can I have something else?
"I don't care," said the distraught man standing on the railing, "just take whatever you want from the car and just leave."
The other man walked from the driver's side of the car, around the front end through the beams of the headlights and stood a few feet away from the man on the railing and addressed him.
"What I want is you, Carl."
The man on the railing bent down slightly, trying to get identify the man standing on the bridge. "I don't know you…how do you know my name? What do you want with me?"
"Doesn't matter how I know you," answered the other man, "I want you for companionship, you're a good looking man, I'd like to take you along with me to a party. You'd be nice to snuggle up with in the car on a cold night like this."
"Who in the hell are you…where do you know me from?
"Let's just say I know all about you."
"What do you want from me?"
"Like I said, I just want you," answered the man, "If you're going to throw away your life, then let me have your life. I can think of a lot better things to do with you than throw you into a river."
"How do you know what I intend to do?"
"Well, it's like, duh…you're standing on a bridge rail in the middle of this span in the middle of the night. That sort of behavior is pretty obvious. Besides, I've been briefed on you."
"Briefed on me…I haven't talked to anyone…no one knows. Just who are you?"
"Who I am isn't important. I was just sent here to talk you out of doing the dirty deed. You still have free will to do what you want, but I would like to find a way to convince you not go through with this. You've seen the movie 'It's A Wonderful Life' haven't you? Well, this bridge is way to high for me to jump off in order to have you jump in after me to try and save me. I mean, you'd be killed in the attempt, so doing that is out of the question. So I thought I'd try reasoning with you first."
"Are you trying to tell me that you think you're some sort of angel?"
"Oh geez, my friends and especially my lover would not consider me to be an angel, but I do have my good moments."
"What do you know about me?"
"Well, stating the obvious, you're a nice looking guy. You've also been very community minded, donating a fair amount of your professional time to gay folks who needed your help but could otherwise not afford it. You've rescued a number of people who may have otherwise ended up in the situation you in now, though they might have chosen other methods than jumping off a bridge. I know you've been distraught and extremely depressed over the past several weeks, but actually you're the one who needs to verbalize this, not me, so start verbalizing."
"Who are you?," yelled the man on the railing, "How do you know about me…my name? Have you been following me around without me noticing? You're supposed to be an angel? Am I so depressed that I'm hallucinating?"
"Oh geez, Carl," answered the other man, "I can answer all your questions later. O.K., I'll tell you what I'm gonna do. I'll perform a little parlor trick for you to give you an idea of what's going on, then you get off that railing, we go for a ride in your warm car and you can tell me what's on your mind while we snuggle. Ready?"
With his mouth open, Carl shook his head while clinging to the steel rods.
"This ain't much, but it'll do." The man standing on the bridge raised out his arms and began to rise upward until he was floating about four feet above the pavement. "And this is done without any strings or mirrors."
"Oh my gosh," responded Carl, "I should have asked what you are."
"Whatever," replied the other man as he gently settled back onto the pavement, "Now will you get off that railing, you're giving me a severe case of the willies. Whatever issues you have, we can talk them through."
Carl's emotional dam began to crumble. "Why should you care? I'm just like an old piece of furniture that just doesn't fit anywhere, that no one wants. Sure, I was helping people out, but no one seemed to place any interest in me outside of getting my help. I found I had no one to talk to, no one had any interest in whether I existed or not. There seemed to be no point in my being around anymore."
"Old piece of furniture? How old are you, Carl?"
"I'm forty-three."
"Forty-three? Compared to the universe, you've hardly been born."
"I don't have anyone left anymore. Just about all my friends have died. It's like I'm the only one left. My partner's gone too. I'm an anachronism, there's no point in my being around any longer. Most of my friends died off before their time, then my partner passed on. I don't think I recovered from his passing. I just feel so alone, a leftover. Just as lonely as this place on this bridge."
"Well, I'm gonna take you for a ride, and while this may seem difficult to believe, I was sent here to pick you up and take you to a place where you can party with your friends and your lover, Hugh, will be there too."
Carl seemed frozen in position, a shocked, disbelieving expression on his face, clinging onto the steel rods, "Hugh…?".
"Come on, Carl, " encouraged the man on the pavement, "it'll be fun. You have your free will to do as you wish, but if you choose to jump, than you will not be able to come with me and meet up with your friends and Hugh."
Carl's eyes were moist and a cautious grin began to develop on his face. He released his grip on the steel rods and prepared to jump back down onto the pavement. As he positioned himself, the soles of Carl's shoes began to skid on the slick flat top of the railing. Suddenly, he slipped and fell off the railing towards the water below.
"Oops," said the man standing on the pavement.

Just as suddenly, figures began to rise up on the other side of railing. They were of two men and in-between them was Carl, on whom they had a firm grip on. One of the men spoke to the man standing on the bridge. "My, aren't we wasteful, throwing away a perfectly good man like this, and a good looking one at that." The figures floated down onto the bridge, gently lowering Carl onto the pavement. Soon, the four men were in Carl's car, with one of Carl's new found companions driving. Carl was tucked away in the back seat, becoming very passive and saying very little. Even when the man who had spoke to him on the bridge informed Carl with the unbelievable news that the group was now headed for the San Francisco of a few years in the future, he just nodded his head meekly in agreement. As the car sped off the bridge, Carl cautioned the driver about a patrol car ahead of them in the distance. "You best slow down," he cautioned, "I know that deputy. He's ticket happy and he loves to give queers a hard time. He'll just zero in on this red Cadillac." "Oh, does he?" answered the driver smiling, "Well, I better slow down then."

"My, aren't we wasteful, throwing away a perfectly good man like this…"

The driver drove Carl's Cadillac into the passing lane next to the patrol car, and then slowed to match its speed. The passengers in Carl's car rolled down the windows and waved at the driver in patrol car. The deputy looked over at Carl's car and frowned. Then one of the passengers leaned out the window and yelled.
"I scream, you scream, we all scream at the Dairy Queen!" The man then followed the statement with a loud, silly scream. The patrolman immediately rolled down his window and responded with an obscene gesture and by yelling back the word, "Faggots!" With that, the driver of Carl's car floored the accelerator and the Cadillac roared down the interstate. The deputy reacted, his patrol vehicle chasing the red Cadillac with lights flashing. One of Carl's companions turned to him and spoke.
"We going to give the old boy a good ghost story to tell all his buddies back at the cop shop."

The Cadillac raced down the deserted early morning interstate highway, going faster and faster, with the patrol car in very hot pursuit. As Carl felt the acceleration, he watched the traffic stripes on the highway rush past, looking more and more like dots.
The driver of Carl's car turned back to him and spoke.
"See what happens when you put a queen behind the wheel of a red Cadillac!"
The patrol man also increased his speed, attempting to over take the car ahead of him. Yet the Cadillac moved faster and faster until it seemed to be flying above the highway. Suddenly, the driver of the patrol car found that not only was the car ahead of him relentlessly increasing its speed, but the speed of his car was increasing as well without any effort on his part. The red Cadillac ahead of him was rocketing down the interstate and the scenery was racing past his car in a blur. The steering wheel now seemed to be locked in place and the brake pedal was unresponsive. A look at the speedometer showed that the gauge had locked at 120 mph. The driver could smell the burning rubber of this tires. This continued for many long seconds until the patrol man had a white knuckle grip on the steering wheel and screeching very high pitched screams.

Incredibly, the Cadillac surged forward even faster and then seemed to punch into the scenery in front of it in a kind of ripple effect. There was a flash of light and the instantly, the Cadillac was gone. Whatever had a grip on the patrol car had now released it and the car quickly slowed, with the engine dying. The patrolman found he also now had control of the steering wheel and he steered the vehicle to the shoulder, with the car bumpily obeying, the car tires reduced to rubber shreds. The car came to a stop in the gravel on the side of the road, with the patrol man holding onto the steering wheel with a death grip, shaking and breathing heavily with tear stained cheeks.

*********
"Desperate! - Any Donation Will Help!"

The San Francisco twilight was rapidly darkening into night and a few homeless people were slowly wandering away after receiving handouts at the backdoor of a church hall which served as an assistance center. One man looked into the small bag he was given. Inside was a roll of toilet paper, some toiletries, a couple packs of gum and a small box of chocolates. The attendant at the assistance center had tried to be cheerful. "Sorry guys. Ain't much this time around. Donations have been way down. Try to have a Merry Christmas, anyway."

The bag suddenly slipped out of the man's hands and fell to the pavement. He hurriedly stooped down to retrieve articles that had rolled out of the bag. As he stood up again, there was a flash of light from behind him, giving him a brief, distinct shadow on the concrete. As he turned around to see where the light had come from, a flashbulb or a spotlight from a police car perhaps, he saw man walking down the sidewalk towards him. The homeless man immediately made an automatic request out of habit.
"Got any loose change you could spare?"
Instead of ignoring him, the passerby engaged the homeless man in conversation.
"Looks like you could use a lot more than loose change. You really seem to be living life on the edge, do you have a place to stay during the nights?
The homeless man hung his head, looking down at the pavement, "Sometimes a shelter, sometimes I find a protected place in an alley".
"Wow, that really sucks big time. Such a sparkling city, yet I'm seeing so many people who appear to be living in the street," continued the stranger. "You'd think there would be a lot of employment opportunities in a city like this."
"There are jobs out there, man," answered the homeless man, "but they pay practically nothing compared to what you need to live on. No matter where you go, the rents are so high, you just can't keep a roof over your head. And if you lose your home, you can just forget about getting into a new place. So you end up on the street. It takes a college degree nowadays just to have a job where all you do is push paper around. Still, I've known guys with college educations who end up in the street."
"When I lived in the city, homeless people were a rarity. I guess the United States is no longer the industrial powerhouse it once was. Pushing paper around probably doesn't generate much wealth, does it?"
"When did you live in San Francisco?"
"Back in the 1970s."
"The seventies. You look like your in your late twenties."
"I age well. Hey…I have a proposition for you. I'm on my way to a party, but before I go, I need to perform some good deeds, like a Christmas kind of thing, you know. No offense, but since your situation seems a bit on the dire side, I wonder if you would let me help you out a bit."
"Well…ah…er…" stammered the homeless man, "Sure, O.K. …like…ah…what did you have in mind?"
"First off," answered the stranger, "it doesn't take my years as an investment banker to notice you seem to have a real cash flow issue. Loose change is just not going to tide you over very far, trust me. So let me give you some paper."
The stranger pulled out a wad of bills out of his man and began to hand over several bills to the amazed and eager man. As the homeless man began to tuck the bills into a neat pile, he made a discovery. A wild, startled look came to his face.
"These ain't dollar bills, mister. These are hundred dollar bills…like you gave me almost two thousand dollars!
"Well, O.K. then, here's a few more, but that should be enough."
The homeless man gasped. "Now I got $3100 dollars. You sure you want to give me all this? Is this stuff counterfeit?
"It's as real as the rest of this world is."
"But why give me all this?"
"I'm not some sort of miserly, greedy Republican, I believe in the power of generosity. Shouldn't you have a good Christmas and if I can provide that for you, why not? At least you'll be able to spend a few nights in a warm, safe place and have a few good warm meals. Now don't spend any of that on drugs."
"Drugs?" announced the man, "Hell no, the first thing I want is a hot steaming shower and to spend as long as I want in a bathroom all by myself."
The man was shaking, his listless expression replaced by an brightened one. "Is there anything you want me to do for you, man? I mean, are there any good deeds you want me to do?"
"No, no," laughed the stranger, "Just keep the holiday season, I'm sure that if you keep the holiday season in your heart you will do some good deeds anyway."
Some of the other homeless people approached, attracted by the clamor.
"Oh," the homeless man excused himself, "I should've been more quiet. These other people gonna want handouts too."
"No problem, the more the merrier," replied the stranger, "it'll be fun to see if I can freak them out…in a nice holiday way, of course," he called the other homeless people over to him. One of the others pointed to the homeless man standing near the stranger. "Hey, what happened to you. I just saw you a few minutes ago and you didn't have no shave and haircut…and where you get the nice clothes?"
The homeless man felt his face, his beard was gone and the hair on his head was shorter and felt like it was just cut. He looked down at himself and his soiled clothes were replaced by a nice pair of new jeans, a shirt and sweater and a new jacket. He glared at the stranger in apprehension.
"Did you do this? How did you do this? Who are you?"
The stranger laughed, "Just consider this an extreme makeover, an improvised, on-the-street version. Sorry, but I'm really not into the dumpster-grudge chic look. This is what happens when you give a gay guy a little bit of magic. You look just the way I imagined you should."
The stranger also handed out bonanzas to the other homeless people present and these other people underwent instant makeovers until the group of homeless people gathered by the assistance center appeared to be a group of well off middle class Americans. A woman looked down at a small piece of cardboard she was carrying. On the cardboard the words, "Desperate! - Any Donation Will Help!"
"Guess I won't be needing this," she giggled and spun the cardboard towards the gutter.

Still, one homeless man lurked in the shadows and the stranger called him over.
"Be careful," cautioned the first homeless man, "That's Ernest. He's an all right guy most of the time, but he's got some mental issues. Sometimes he gets really angry, though mostly, he's just confused."
Ernest walked out the shadows, arms at his side, fists clenched. There was a wild look in his eyes, his lips firmly pressed together, his head shaking slightly.
"Ernest," the stranger called the man over and pointed at him. "Ernest, enough of that, just behave yourself!"
Ernest then covered his forehead with his hands. He cried out in pain as if he had a sudden headache. Then he removed his hands from his forehead and looked about him, alert and focused, as if he had just woken up.
"Oh gosh," exclaimed Ernest, "I really need to get my life in order."

The group of homeless people followed the stranger, proudly strolling towards Casto Street, suddenly having a much better holiday than they could have possibly hoped for along with a rich tale they could pass on of being the beneficiaries of a mysterious stranger's holiday magic.

********

More and more dimensional rifts and vortexes began to form randomly around San Francisco, especially in and about the Castro. One such rift formed above the intersection of Castro Street and Duboce Avenue. It began at first as a light bending distortion which began to glow. Then the glowing apparition burst forth a stream of light through which a number of glowing orbs emerged. The orbs traveled erratically in spirals and snakelike paths, causing cars to slam on their brakes before the glowing globes disappeared into the surrounding neighborhood.

Several blocks south in the Castro business district, another orb popped its way out of a small distortion several feet above the sidewalk. It zigzagged its way down the sidewalk until the orb focused its attention on a young man walking ahead of it. The glowing orb slowed and began to travel in a straight line behind the young man. Then, hovering about six feet off the ground the orb began to morph into a human shape and then finally the apparition completely solidified into a good looking mustached young man wearing clothes more in style in the late 1970's, jeans, a shirt with buttons undone to reveal a hairy chest and chestnut brown waist length leather jacket. The newly materialized young man briskly glided up to and intercepted the man in front of him, putting his arm around the man's shoulders. "Hey good looking," he announced, "How ya doing?"

*******

To the north and east of the Castro, on a side street off of Divisadero, still another distortion formed. The distortion began to glow with a fiery intensity and bubble as if it were sack with someone inside trying to break out. Finally, the distortion ripped and burst with a glowing orb flying upwards at first, then spiraling down towards the ground. As the orb approached the ground, it quickly congealed into human form, becoming a young Hispanic man, with a very athletic body, dressed in tight jeans, boots, and a skin tight T-shirt covered with an waist length leather jacket, which was unzipped and flung about as he walked. The young man stopped and looked about his new surroundings, smiled and took a deep breath. He then felt his body, stretched and then stretched his arms way above his head, his hands forming fists. "Yes, Yes!" he yelled.

The man then laughed and ran towards a wall and then jumped at it. His feet met the wall and he ran up the wall and then leaped into the air until he was perhaps fifteen feet above the sidewalk. He then held out his arms again and slowly glided down, landing ever so gently on the roof of a car. He jumped up again and somersaulted over the hood of car onto the sidewalk. "This is just too good, man. This is just too good!," he yelled. He then began to run down the street, defying gravity again and deciding to run part of the way on the side of building, then making another slow motion spiral somersault onto the sidewalk. The young man continued to walk down the sidewalk, shadow boxing and doing some fancy footwork as he moved along. He paused, drawing his clenched fists tightly against his chest while he danced a bit on the sidewalk. Suddenly, he flung out a right jab into the air in front of him. His arm disappeared up to the elbow, and when he withdrew his arm, a glowing dimensional disruption appeared. He moved down the street a few feet, punched again and formed another tear in the continuum. The young man continued to violently punch and jab as he walked down the street, as if he were dancing to some unheard music. From the glowing tears in the dimensional fabric behind him more glowing orbs began to emerge. These orbs also began to form into men, who in turn were helping to pull other forms from the glowing fissures. Soon the young Hispanic man was strutting proudly down the street, leading a crowd of gay men towards Divisadero and the Castro.

*******

In Buena Vista park, a large glowing distortion appeared and hovered close to the ground for a minute or so. Then a glowing mass of energy burst from it, forming into a showroom new 1975 Buick LeSabre convertible. Two men were sitting on top of the back seat, waving to a nonexistent crowd. Suddenly realizing they were waving to no one, one of the men yelled to the driver. "Wait…wait. There's something wrong, where is everybody? Stop."
The Buick lumbered along on the lawn for a short bit and halted. The passenger continued to voice his concerns. "This is definitely not Polk or Castro. I told you not to make that turn back in there. Oh my gosh, I recognize this place…we're in the middle of Buena Vista park. Turn that way, that's east. On to Polkstrasse!"

The driver turned the Buick and headed across the lawn eventually coming to the edge of the park, crossing a sidewalk and onto a street with one the men in the back seat standing and pointing the way like Washington crossing the Delaware. An older woman walking her dog down the sidewalk, stopped and watch the car pass her, shook her head and continued on her way. "Ku-weens," she muttered.

********

All over San Francisco proper and in particular the areas known to have large gay populations, or those areas having established a reputation as gay haunts, a haunting of a different type began to take place. Distortions in the fabric of space would begin to appear, manifesting themselves as visual distortions, much like a bubble in a pane of glass. These distortions would gradually begin to glow, then form a light radiating tear from which orbs of light escaped, gleefully darting about the landscape. To the north and east of the Castro, along Polk and Larkin Streets near Geary, these glowing distortions began to appear in abundance. Most of the aberrations escaped notice by the few pedestrians on the cold, damp night. However, the distortions began to grow in number and size.

A Chinese American couple in a compact car driving north on Polk Street encountered one of these glowing distortions. The driver, thinking the golden apparition was probably smoke or steam, drove into it. The car was promptly swallowed by the distortion and disappeared. A few seconds later the car reappeared, having reversed direction, this time heading south on Polk street. The car drove for a short distance and screeched to a halt. The driver, his face frozen in shock, gripped the steering wheel as if in fear for his life. The front seat passenger, his wife, prattled on mindlessly and hysterically in Mandarin. The rear doors of the car then popped open with several young men jumping out.
"Thanks, man," said one of the men leaning into the driver's window, "for coming in there and picking us up…appreciate the lift!" The men then scampered down the street.

********
"Ohmigawd, you've killed Kenny," he exclaimed, "You bastards!"

Returning from a trip downtown, a lone man with a cane left the Muni stop near Dubose Park and the Harvey Milk Recreational Center. As the man struggled to walk, obviously having difficulty making his legs do what he wanted them to do, he noticed a flash of light coming from Duboce Park, and then seeing the silhouettes of three men afterward. Even though the sky was cloudy, the man thought that lightning was not likely the cause of the flash, perhaps the men in the park were setting off fireworks. As the man wobbled towards the park, the three men approached him. "Greetings, my good man," heralded one of the men, "and a joyous holiday season to you. What a beautiful city, even more so than I remember it." The man with the cane stopped, and eyed the men with a suspicious gaze as he leaned on his cane. Stupid tourists, he thought. "And what is your name, sir?"

"My name's Kenny," said the man with the cane with reserve, just wanting to resume his walk home and not wanting to be bothered by these strangers.
"Good to meet you, Kenny," replied the man, "My name's Dennis and this is John and Erik. Such an outstanding San Francisco night, isn't it?"
"It's cloudy and damp."
"Yes, but it's such an outstanding cloudy and damp. Besides, that's what makes San Francisco San Francisco.
"Whatever." Kenny began to move his stiff legs and continue his journey. "Got to get going…I'm on my way home."
"You should come with us to party…we're headed to a delightful holiday bash on the Castro."
"No thanks, I'm just not the party person anymore."
"What good is sitting alone in your room," scolded one of the other smiling men, "life is a cabaret!"
"I really want to go home and get out of the damp," Kenny struggled with his unresponsive limbs, pushing himself along with his cane.
"You should come along with us…there'll be dancing…great fun!"
Kenny was struggling to get the words out. With great irritation, he spoke. "I don't dance. You can see I don't move very well."
"Nonsense! This is a once in a lifetime party. We'll have you dancing before the night is over."
Kenny ignored the men and continued to wobble away. The other man was persistent.
"Well sir, I am in a party mood and I need to do a good deed and infect you with the party spirit." The man grabbed a hold of Kenny's arms and attempted to whirl him about in a dance.
"Stop! What's wrong with you?" protested Kenny, "Don't you see there's something wrong with me?" Kenny paused a second and then continued with an almost tearful fear in his eyes as the stranger would not release his grip. "Stop it, leave me alone, I've got Multiple Sclerosis."
"Yes, that's exactly what my diagnosis was when I first saw you," replied the stranger named Dennis, "I'll have you know I was a doctor when I was alive. I think all you need is a little Christmas."

The stranger and one of the other men grabbed onto Kenny and whirled him about in a enthusiastic dance on the lawn, until finally Kenny spun away and fell into the grass. The third walked over to Kenny's prone body and looked back at the other men.
"Ohmigawd, you've killed Kenny," he exclaimed, "You bastards!"
Dennis walked the few short steps over to Kenny, first speaking to the man standing next to him, "Will you stop kidding around, you're scaring the poor man," then he bent over and spoke to the man lying on the grass.
"Kenny will you get up on your feet? There's nothing wrong with you…at least not anymore. I told your nerve endings to just calm down and stop being inflamed. "
Kenny looked up with fearful eyes at the three men standing over him until Dennis reached down and pulled him up by the arm. Kenny stood up, noticing immediately that his legs felt different, they were totally responsive and obedient to his every minor desire to move. His entire body felt different, he was in complete control, his posture was upright and graceful, his body was responding exactly to the way he wanted it to. Dennis picked up Kenny's cane from the grass. "Don't forget your cane, you may want it as a souvenir."
Kenny began laughing in a stream of giggles, almost finding it hard to speak.
"I've been struggling with this illness for the past two years. Now, in an instant…it's gone. My God, could it have been the fall? Wait a minute…you said, when you were alive. Who are you…what are…wait…are you…ghosts?"
"Not anymore, hon. Now that we've done our good deed, not anymore."
The three men then escorted their new and totally amazed friend, Kenny, to the grand party on Castro Street.

********
"Forget your troubles and just be gay."

On Market Street, not far from Castro, a young woman made her way slowly down the sidewalk, a woolen cap pulled down over her head with numerous bags, carrying cases and stuffed animals attached to her person. The girl cut a sympathetic, if not pathetic figure against the windows nearby, brightly colored with Christmas lights. Walking slowly and aimlessly and avoiding eye contact with others, it was apparent that the woman had no destination. Out of the corner of her eye, she became aware that someone was staring at her. She turned casually to spy a look and saw a trio of men, standing nearby. One of the men was a tall, husky man was dressed in drag, in a pinkish, salmon colored chiffon like fairy tale gown, complete with a dainty purse, sparkling shoes and a tiara! The young woman gave the man a complete look over and then turned, without any expression of emotion except for fatigue, to continue on her way. The man in drag addressed her. "Young lady," spoke the man, revealing a sizable trace of a Southern accent, "That little pink bag you're carrying, with the cartoon characters. I've never seen those characters before. What are those called?" The young woman replied blandly, "They're called the Power Puff girls".

The man noticed that the other carrying cases were similar, things that a girl of high school age or earlier, might own. "Why are you carrying all that around with you? Are you moving?
The girl gave the man a puzzled look. "This is all my stuff."
"But why do you carry it all around with you? Can't you just leave some of it at home?"
The girl expressed another puzzled, irritated look. "I am my own home. I don't have a home to go to. I live on the street."
The large drag queen shot a shocked look of surprise. "You don't have a home? I don't understand…why, how old are you, dear?"
"I'm seventeen."
"Seventeen…merciful heavens. Girl, where are your parents?"
"I was living with my mom…" answered the girl matter of factly, like this was an explanation she had repeated many times before and had grown weary of repeating, "she found out I was gay and tossed me out. I guess, too, that she was just eager to get me out of the house because she was tired of supporting me. So I carry around all that I have in the world and do the best I can on the street."
"So you don't have a home to go to?"
"No."
"Do you rent a room?"
"No room."
"Do you at least have a car?"
"No car. I don't drive."
"Not even a car? Well, if you don't have a car, then God bless you."

"Young lady, do you have money to get yourself some hot cider?"
"I've just got some coins on me, probably not enough for hot chocolate or cider."
"Not even enough for a small cup of cider?"
"No."
"Not even a small cup? Well, if you can't afford a small cup, then God bless you."

"Do you have a place to stay tonight, someone of your age should not be on the streets all night. Is there a shelter you could stay at?"
"Yeah, there are shelters, but I avoid them. I got to be careful. I have to sleep with one eye open, otherwise I might find someone trying to crawl on top of me, if you know what I mean. A lot of times they just don't have any room, anyway."
"That's reprehensible," said the man in drag indignantly.
"Plus, some of the homeless don't like gay people. Some of the more rednecked types think that gays somehow have something to do with them being homeless. Like I'm gay and I'm homeless, so that argument doesn't make any sense."

The girl gave a steely gaze at the man's outfit. "Are you headed for some party or something?"
"When I arrived here in San Francisco, I was thinking of how I was dressed for a Christmas pageant at one of our local saloons back in 1978, so I decided to appear this way. It was a performance that was truly memorable."
"Memorable bordering on forgettable," said one of the men standing behind the man dressed in drag.
"Hush, please. Will the peanut gallery please restrain itself?"
The large man notice that the girl's attention was focused behind him, he turned to look. His two companions were striking poses and doing ballet-like spins. "We were sugar plum fairies in the pageant."
"Please ignore Howdy Doody and Clarabelle, now where was I? Oh yes, we have got to do something about your situation…find you a place to stay tonight."
"Just so you know," replied the young woman, "I ain't got any money, but I won't do any prostitution, just in case…like anybody might have that in mind."
The man in drag laughed, "I don't think you have to worry about that with us, dear."
"Then you guys are gay, then?"
"Are we gay? You think we're gay?" the man in drag lifted up his arm, whirled it about in the air and snapped his fingers. "Of course we're gay. I'm certainly not dressed like this to go to a Knights of Columbus meeting. Back to the issue at hand, however. We need to get you off the street and a roof over your head tonight. It's damnable cold. When I decided to appear in this chiffon thing, I forgot about cold and how unpleasant it can feel, especially when cold air rushes between your legs."
"And how unpleasant it is for everyone else to look at your legs, as well," quipped one the other two men. The man in drag looked at the man, frowning, then turned his attention to the girl.
"I grew up in Dixie, Georgia and we Southern boys were taught to take care of family…you just don't toss your kin out in the cold, and especially when it's one of your very own offspring. Any Southern family with an ounce of pride takes care of their own, and that especially means those closest to you. I mean, that's a matter of responsibility and just plain ol' good breeding. It's just a scandal to see so many homeless on the street; it's a national disgrace, apparently this country has just gone down hill since I was last here. As just as a matter of doing a good deed and personal responsibility, I intend on providing you a warm place to stay tonight. I also believe a young lady such as yourself deserves to have a good Christmas; it's just pure and totally wrong to have children living in the street, especially this time of year."

The girl replied with a hopeful voice tinged with suspicion and hesitancy. "Mister, I'm stone cold broke, but if you want to help me, I'm not lazy, I'm a good worker…"
"Child," replied the man in the salmon colored dress, "What you need most urgently right now is help, not a job. I don't want you to do anything for me, I just want to give you the assistance that you cannot give to yourself. I'm certain that eventually you will make a success of yourself. I grew up dirt po' down South, there were even people who called us white trash, but through my grit and determination I made something of myself and made my momma and poppa proud of me."
"And that was even in spite of having very little talent," added one of the other two men.
"Hush!" snapped the man in drag who then reached into a dainty purse he was carrying. "Ain't this purse a hoot?" he said to the young woman, "Exactly like one I found in the Salvation Army store back in 1975." The man pulled out a glittering object which appeared to be a magic wand. "This is just like one I used in the Christmas pageant." The man turned to his companions and spoke in a threatening voice, "Which was truly a memorable performance."
"Margaret DuMont lives!", yelled out one of the other two men, making the large man frown and the girl look bewildered. The man in drag then spoke in a more pleasant voice to the young woman. "People told me that I reminded them of the angel on top of a Christmas tree."
"Yeah," added one of the man's companions, "If the Christmas tree was a redwood supported by steel girders."
The man in the drag outfit arched his eyebrows and ignored the comment, holding the wand in the air and then pausing. The young woman looked at him with an amazed and puzzled expression.

"Tell me, dear," inquired the man in drag, "are there other kids like you around here?" The girl told him there was and then led the group on a short odyssey to find the other homeless gay kids she hung out with. Finally, the three men and a group of homeless teens gathered on the sidewalk of Market Street near Castro. The three men chatted quietly among themselves apparently planning something. One of the young homeless man interrupted them. "If you're just going to take us to a shelter and tell them to take special care of us because we're gay, that just ain't gonna work. They just won't care."

"That is not at all what we had in mind," responded the man in drag, ending the conversation with his friends. "We have a special place for you, tailored especially for your needs, where you can have an exceptional and safe holiday evening. A place that's very festive and above all, very gay. A perfect place for you to experience the Christmas spirit. It will be for tonight only, but from what I understand, things may be quite a bit different for you tomorrow." The man in drag lifted his arm holding the wand and moved it around in the air a few times. "Behold," he exclaimed and motioned with his arm towards a wall.

"That's a door," spoke one of the kids, "just a brown door."
"I don't know about this…" replied a cautious young man.
"I've never seen a door there before," observed another kid, "Is that a new shelter?"
"I guess you could say that," replied the man in drag. He motioned towards the girl with all the carrying cases. "Would you do us all the honor and knock on the door?"
The girl made her way to the door and knocked lightly on it. It was just a nondescript wooden door, the young woman expected nothing except a mostly barren room, maybe with cots. At least she would be out of the cold and damp. The door was opened by an older woman, nicely but casually dressed, smiling and smelling of sweet perfume. "Well, hello Wendy," greeted the woman, "It's good to see you, come on in."
The girl lurched back a bit and tried to recognize the woman, "Do I know you?"
"Of course not, dear, " The older woman replied, "but I know you and I've been expecting you." Wendy looked beyond the woman into the room beyond. It was brightly light and nicely furnished with holiday decorations strung on the walls. The interior did not match the outside of the building at all. Wendy turned around and spoke to the man in drag.
"What's going on here?" she asked.
The man in drag smiled, "We just tweaked this reality a tiny little bit. It's especially made, just for you. Go ahead, enjoy yourself. Don't you think you deserve at least one night of security and happiness? Forget your troubles and just be gay."
"Wendy turned back to the smiling woman at the door. "Can I bring all my bags in with me?"
"Of course, dear. It's all your stuff. There's a safe place for you to store your belongings."
Wendy began to enter the doorway when she suddenly stopped. "Wait…I want to thank that guy in the costume." Wendy turned. "Where'd he go?"
"I'm right here," was the reply. The man was no longer the chiffon gown and wig. He was now a nice looking husky dark haired man dressed in a button down collar shirt, jeans and a dark jacket. He smiled. "I was getting goosebumps on my goosebumps wearing that chiffon."
The kids were amazed. "Are you some sort of quick change artist?" one asked. The man quickly turned to his two companions, warning them. "Not a comment out of you two!"

Once all the homeless kids had entered through the doorway, the men said their good-byes and told the kids to have a good time. The door was closed and it promptly disappeared from the building wall. The three men began walking towards Castro Street.
"Well, that wasn't all that difficult. Felt good to get the kids off the street."
"Yeah, kind of puts you in the Christmas spirit, but now I'm feeling kind of challenged."
"Challenged? How so?"
"Now that you're not wearing that chiffon gown anymore, I'm going to have to find another way to tease you."

The homeless kids quickly discovered to their amazement that the shelter was unlike anything they had experienced, it was more like a large, opulent suburban home or perhaps a large mountain lodge filled with sweet Christmas smells and cooking. First, the kids discovered that they each had been given their own bedrooms and each room seemed tailored just for them. Then, they were given time to take showers and given sets of new clothes. Afterwards, the house mother announced that she had dinner ready for them and it was served in a beautiful dining room. The house mother was very pleasant and amiable, but she would do little to explain the surroundings, other than that the kids deserved it and that their stay was a gift. After dinner kids were led to the great room with the large glittering Christmas tree and all the presents under it. The nicely wrapped gifts had the kid's names on them.

As the kids began to explore the house, they discovered that door through which they had entered the house no longer opened onto San Francisco, but a snow covered, wooded and hilly suburban looking neighborhood straight out of the late 1960s, with snow flocked evergreens and houses trimmed with holiday lights. To the youths, the neighborhood seemed slightly old fashioned, yet everything looked brand new. The kids also discovered incredibly that the neighbors were mostly gay couples and there was a warm, festive holiday air to the entire place, with not only the house they were staying in, but the entire neighborhood having a feeling that was comforting, nostalgic and secure. People were decorating their houses, having parties and people who were shoveling their walks after the regular snowfalls would invite them in for a cup of hot chocolate or coffee.

Indeed, the neighborhood seemed to be right out of a homosexual holiday greeting card. There was even a shopping district with stores, restaurants, a coffee house and a small, but very tidy supermarket. The house mother had also given the kids what she called "self-healing" wallets. The youths soon discovered what she meant by self healing; as soon as they made a purchase in the little shopping district, the spent amount would reappear in the wallets.

The house mother explained. "We wanted this to be a special Christmas for you all, so we came up with a place that would provide the absolute, most perfect Christmas for all of you." She also explained to the kids that while they would be there for only one night, one night in their world translated to two weeks in this special world. After two weeks, when they were sent back to the San Francisco they had left, the kids discovered it was merely the morning right after the night they had left.

So the kids spent their part of their holiday in a household where being gay didn't matter, where they were accepted and had a sense of belonging. They were safe, protected and began to enjoy simple things like talking things over with the understanding house mother in the kitchen over a cup of coffee, spiced cider or hot chocolate. Watching old TV programs in the great room with a fire flickering in the large fieldstone fireplace. Falling asleep securely in their own clean beds without a worry. Sitting about the great Christmas tree and opening their presents. Though the mystery of the place was never quite explained to them, that didn't matter. This was the best, and to some the only Christmas they had ever had.

********

The Parade
As more and more gay souls began making their way back into the realm of the living, vortexes and dimensional rifts continued to form all over San Francisco. Some of the vortexes were small and inconspicuous. Some gay souls returned to their old residences, suddenly materializing in homes and apartments now occupied by others. This caused some consternation especially when a figure materialized in front of a person lounging in an easy chair. Many other vortexes formed in places regarded and remembered with great fondness and joy, where the old bars and boogie palaces once were, particularly in and around Castro Street, along Polk Street and the south of Market bar area.

However, a grand and mighty vortex began to form at the site of many gay pride parades, on Market street. The glowing column was at first called in as a possible natural gas leak with police arriving and using a couple of police cars to block off the street. The column grew in width and upward, until it almost reached as high as the third stories of nearby buildings. Its appearance was ethereal and actually not very impressive, the police guessing the fuzzy column was perhaps a glowing cloud of methane gas, watching the phenomenon while huddled against the sides of the police cars as they waited for a natural gas utility truck to arrive. The column began to rotate and glowing wisps, like streaks of smoke or the snow snakes gliding across a frozen winter road, began to appear out of nowhere, gliding along the street, along the sides of buildings and daintily around objects, all moving towards the column. Some of the glowing streams bounced on the pavement like little serpents, others acted like bouncing ping pong balls, all moving steadily towards the rotating vortex. The wind began to pick up, becoming brisk and steady like the sudden appearance of a gale, filling the air with paper, leaves and other debris, which jumped up and around the police cars, being sucked towards the column. The column continued its skyward movement, when suddenly it stalled, and began collapsing downward. As it did, to the amazement of the officers, a car came racing up Market towards the vortex. It was a very mint condition 1975 Buick LeSabre convertible with three men, one of whom was standing in the back, pointing to the vortex. The man was yelling to the driver.
"We're on time. It hasn't started yet. Hurry, get in line."
The car seemed to glide around the police cars, leaping over the sidewalk and disappearing behind the column.

The wind began to pick up more and more, rushing towards the column which kept glowing brighter, with the police sheltering themselves against the patrol cars, waiting for some sort of explosion. Suddenly the streams of energy heading towards the column dwindled and ended and the rush of air heading inward towards the vortex abruptly ended along with its rushing sound. The cops slowly stood up to see three glowing objects appear at the top of the column, objects which appeared to have a vaguely human form. A loud, authoritative sounding voice came from one of the glowing figures.
"Let no one, be it human or demon or entity or spirit crossing this plane, interfere with the reemergence of these souls."
The glowing forms suddenly streaked off in three separate directions, and disappeared.
"What in the hell is this supposed to be…the end of the world?" exclaimed one of the cops.

No sooner than the policeman had uttered his words, the column fell onto itself, like a cake falling in an oven and exploding in a brilliant flash of light, the cops suddenly stepping back, shielding their faces with their arms. Two huge rings of light, one horizontal and one at an angle, burst outward from the brilliant center glow, disappearing into the buildings lining the street. Then, dozens, if not hundreds of bright orbs shot out from the center of the blast of light, scattering every which way. One orb shot around and over one of the police cars and headed for the officer mounted on the motorcycle. The cop rose up in an attempt to get off his bike and out of the way, but he was not fast enough and the orb hit him square on and propelled him off the bike. The officer closed his eyes and waited for a hard landing on the pavement or a wall, but instead his landing was soft and careful. When he opened his eyes, a young man in a flannel shirt and jeans was straddling over him, holding the cop's head in his hands.

"I grabbed your head so it wouldn't hit anything. Are you okay?, " asked the young man.
The officer nodded yes.
"Sorry to ram you like that but it was pandemonium in there, everyone scrambling to get out and take their places in the parade.
"Parade…?" said the officer, pushing the young man off him and standing up. The glowing column was gone save for a bright light and large number of figures that seemed to be gathering where the base of the column had been. Unseen voices were singing the Hallelujah Chorus. Proceeding out of the glow were dozens of life sized toy soldiers, who then stopped near the police cars, marching in place. The music changed to "The March Of The Toy Soldiers" appropriately, and onlookers, who moments before were cowering on the sidewalks were now applauding.
"You mean this whole thing was nothing more than some sort of promotion?" asked the cop with great irritation, "You have something to do with parade?"
"Yeah, I'm marching in it."
"Would you please show me your identification?" asked the officer.
"Identification? Well, I guess I can show you my wallet."
The officer quickly looked at the wallet. "This driver's license expired in 1982. It says you were born in 1956. Yet you look like you're about 25. This can't be yours."
"That's my picture on the license. I guess the last wallet I owned materialized with me."
The officer looked at both the young man and the license oddly. "Something is not right here. Here's your wallet back."
"You know," added the young man, "that bushy, reddish blond mustache of yours is beyond belief hot. I haven't seen a man in solid form in years and you are just magnificent."
The officer flashed an unsettled look at the young man and shook his head. He explained he was arresting the man for disturbing the peace, illegal use of fireworks, a parade without a permit and assault upon an officer of the law. Surprisingly, the young man was very eager when the officer told him he would have to put handcuffs on him. "This is so awesome," beamed the young man as he held out his wrists obediently, "you are such a righteous dude."

"Are you just glad to see us or are those bananas in your hands?"

Suddenly, there were voices calling to the young man. "Danny…" called out one of two men walking towards the young man and the officers, "What are you doing? This is no time to fool around, we've got to get to our places in the parade."
Danny turned back to the officer arresting him. "I'm sorry," he apologized, "but I have to go. Gosh, I bet you're just a real hard body under that uniform. We can play later, you can cuff me, tie me up, whatever you like. Here's your cuffs back."
The officer was shocked. "How did you get those off?"
"What's your name?" asked Danny, "I'll come looking for you later."
"My name is…ah…ah…I'm not giving that out."
"No matter, I'll find you…remember, I'm Danny. I'm gonna remember you because you're too hot to forget."
The other officers stepped forward, issuing a warning. "Gentleman, you're all under arrest. You'll have to come with us."
"Sorry, officers," explained one of the three men walking away, "We're really under a tight schedule."
"Then you're also under arrest for resisting arrest." The officers drew their weapons. "We are not kidding gentlemen, you'll have to come with us."
One of the three young men turned and laughed, "Are you just glad to see us or are those bananas in your hands?"
The officers looked down at their hands and they were indeed holding bananas and not service revolvers. The officers were too stunned to say anything else as the young men walked around the police cars and headed for the parade. Other voices sounded from behind the officers."You guys will have to move your vehicles so the parade can get underway."
The officers turned to see four other very muscular men, shirtless, but outfitted in leather pants, harnesses and other regalia.
"And who are you?" bravely asked one of the officers.
"We're part of parade security," answered a tall and very muscular black man.
"This is an illegal parade and I am going to have to place you under arrest…"
"No, you're not, short stuff," directed the black man in leather, lightly rubbing the officer's chest with the back of his hand and then massaging his shoulders. "The main thing right now is to move your vehicles, time's running tight for us, so if you don't move them, we're just going to have to move them ourselves." The officers refused to move the police cars but there was little else they could do since their weapons had been replaced by bananas. Seeing that the officers would not be of assistance, the leathermen decided to take matters into their own hands. The large black man walked over to one of the patrol cars, reached under it and simply picked it up as if the car weighed as much as a suitcase. A determined policewomen walked along side the black leatherman.

"Sir, put down the police car," she insisted, "Sir, I need to have you put down the police car." Another leatherman called out that he had found a spot for the police car on a side street. "Hey, toss if over here." The black man complied and tossed the car to his compatriot who caught it with ease. The other man tossed the car back and the vehicle was tossed back and forth a couple of times like a football. The policewoman then simply retreated to join her comrades. The motorcycle cop quickly rescued his bike, pulling it aside and the other police car was picked up by another leatherman and taken to the side street and placed with the other patrol car already there. Later, one of the police men tried calling in the incident, explaining without much success that some gay leatherman had picked up his car and played with it like a Frisbee.

Behind the toy soldiers, parade floats began to materialize, along with dozens upon dozens of gay men who scrambled upon the floats or to find their place elsewhere in the parade. Discovering that some of the spectators had items called cell phones, some of the men asked to use the devices to make calls to very surprised and nearly hysterical parents to wish them a happy holiday. Many of the men materializing spoke languages other than English, such as Spanish, French, German, Russian and Italian, giving a bit of an international flavor to the parade. Many of the new arrivals marveled at the feel of the solid world, the feel of the crisp air, the smells, the feel of the solid ground underneath them.
"What's the first thing you're going to do?" asked one man of another.
"Party…" answered his associate, "but not like I used to. I learned some lessons the first time around. The way I used to party involved a lot of self hatred and that just led me to an early grave. This time around I want everything this world has to offer and that goes way beyond just parties."

The parade then began in earnest, the life sized toy soldiers began to march forward, with a mechanical, yet graceful gait. The soldiers were outfitted in glossy, bright red jackets with shiny gold buttons and black slacks. Shiny black belts and furry, tall black helmets added to their snappy appearance. The squad marched along proudly as the protective front guard to the parade, looking ahead without emotion and occasionally turning their heads slightly and saluting when passing groups of bewildered police officers.

With Old Scratch, the devil, temporarily detained, there were none of his agents or malevolent spirits to prevent the parade from occurring or cause any unfortunate accidents to happen, save, that is for a few very minor demons here and there. These demons would prove no match for the three angels assigned to make sure the reintroduction of gay souls went smoothly. As the soldiers marched forward, they came upon a man who had been standing on a street corner waving signs at passersby, which read, "JFK shot Marilyn Monroe" and "Hillary is Fidel Castro's whore". Suddenly, the soldiers drew their rifles forward, pointing the bayonets at the man. The man looked in at the approaching parade and a look of sheer terror registered on his face. He began to hiss and grow like some cornered animal. The soldiers marched ever forward, slowing slightly, bayonets still drawn. The man dropped the signs, and fell to all fours, running away like a stray dog fleeing animal control officers.

The toy soldiers continued to march forward, leading the parade southwest along Market Street. The soldiers occasionally raised their rifles and fired above the heads of the crowd, showering the cheering people with streams of colored paper. Marching along the sides and to the rear of the soldiers was a color guard of people carrying flags, mostly rainbow flags, along with some flags with pink triangles, lambdas and flags of different nations. Behind the brilliant display of the flags came another float. On this float, there were a couple of ornate gold cannons tended by people in equally ornate uniforms. The cannons would be fired into the onlookers, showering them with a mix of confetti, candy, beads and trinkets. People screamed with delight reaching to catch the falling treats, and their screams brought even more people from the surrounding shopping areas running to watch the parade.

In procession behind the first float, were many classic cars, all of them highly polished and looking incredibly brand new, as if just driven off a showroom floor, behind them were several bands of horseback riders, consisting of strikingly beautiful horses with expensive saddlery and some riders who performed seemingly near impossible horseback acrobatics. Behind them were many more floats, fascinating displays with strings of colored lights, lavish construction and some floats sending off streams of bubbles or emitting fog, others which seemed to be floating on what looked like clouds and still others had laser light displays.

Appearing on many floats were what appeared to be incredible celebrity lookalikes. For instance, the man playing the piano on a large float shaped like a giant piano looked just like Liberace. On another float, a man waving to the crowd looked exactly like Harvey Milk. The parade had no shortage of entertainment, a number of floats had disco dance floors with dancers, other floats had country square dancers or line dancers. Yet other floats had a Broadway theme with performers doing numbers from musicals. At one point in the parade, a man suddenly appeared out of brilliant flash in a nearby alley, then as the song, "You Make Me Feel Mighty Real" played, the man who like exactly like the singer Sylvester approached a float which had stopped for him and climbed aboard, still entertaining the crowd with his song. At another point the parade stopped again, with people dancing in the street to the sound of a young singer singing "Relight My Fire" while standing on top of a float. During the song, what appeared to be a black female angel, joined the young singer in song while hovering above him. During her performance, nearby light poles would shake and quiver with the energy which radiated from the apparition, jumping to the poles and streaking down to the ground. As with any Christmas parade, after the many floats and marching bands, came a float with Santa and his sleigh, and in this particular parade, the jovial, husky Santa had his red velvet sleigh surrounded by many well built, shirtless male hunks who threw stuffed animals and other toys into the crowd.

********

The General

As the parade suddenly formed, traffic attempting to cross Market Street also suddenly jammed, with many motorists opting to abandon their cars to watch the parade. An SUV containing the General, the shadowy figure who gave Gloria her orders and the man she frequently annoyed with her phone calls, was caught in one of the clogs, prevented from continuing on to the freeway on the other side of Market. The General sat for awhile with another man who was driving, fidgeting in his seat for awhile then abruptly got out of the vehicle in an attempt to see how long the delay would be. Smelling a bit of drink, the General walked a short ways up the street with his companion and engaged in a few abrupt conversations with bystanders, since he disliked social chatting, preferring to use conversation to only obtain what he considered useful information. The General learned that the parade, which he could see in the distance, was some sort of unscheduled gay Christmas parade. Very used to getting his way, the General bristled at this inconvenience, biting his fingernails and nervously scratching himself here and there, which he did unconsciously and nearly continuously.

"Does this bother you? I'm standing close to you, but I'm not touching you."

"We'll have to turn the vehicle around and figure some way around this, I'm not waiting for some fruit parade," the General instructed his companion. As he spun his skinny, middle aged figure around, the General suddenly found a man in a dark suit standing almost on top of him. The man flipped a coin in the air with his right hand and quickly grabbed it with the same hand and put it into his pocket. The man moved a couple steps closer to general. "Does this bother you? I'm standing close to you, but I'm not touching you," said the dark suited stranger. "Yeah, it bothers me, I like my own space." "I was sent by my employer to give you a message." "Your employer…who's that?" snapped the General, cracking a cautious, brittle smile and scratching one of his ears. "That would be telling," answered the stranger coyly. "I don't have time for this…" "The precise reason you ended up here in this traffic jam is so I could deliver this message to you." The General looked over to his companion, shaking his head and frowning. "You're telling me I was manipulated so I would be here in this traffic jam. That sort of thing doesn't happen to me. Stupid fruits anyway, with this unannounced fag parade. All it's gonna be is some mostly naked men jumping around on a float. Now if they really wanted to have a parade, they'd have a bunch of bare breasted slender women with dagger like red fingernails with matching stiletto high heels marching down the street. Now that would be a parade to watch." The General's companion applauded, laughing. "Whatever tuns you on, Tiger, " replied the dark suited young stranger, snapping the fingers of his right hand and pointing a finger at the General. "Just who are you anyway…?" asked the general, staring squinty eyed at the stranger. "I make it a point not to be very talkative with strangers." "I'm just a delivery boy, General. Such is my nature that people find they have no problem opening up to me. Usually my boss communicates to people in much more subtle ways, in dreams, in a book they might read, a movie they might see, perhaps an incident in their lives, something that imparts a feeling along with the information so that people know this is a message they need to pay attention to. However, in your case you tend to be a bit hard headed, so my employer felt you needed a direct communication to get the point across."

The "Vegas Angel", Randy Hardwicke's special guardian.

"Clearly, not all the eccentrics have been driven out of San Francisco because of the high rents," stated the General, becoming more irritated than he was amused, "Your outfit…what are you supposed to be…a gangster from 1950s Las Vegas?"
"I appear as a gangster because I thought that would be something you could identify with. I did just fly in here from Las Vegas."
"Your arms must be very tired."
"Not even my wings are tired."
Finally the General snapped, "If…if…you've got a message, tell me about it. Spit it out."

The thing is, my employer has a number of issues with you. First off, he believes you are having a very corrosive effect on this country. He's quite fond of this country, you know. This country came up with Disneyland, and he's very fond of Disneyland, I'll have you know, but that's a very minor reason on his part for liking this country. I personally like this country because it came up with Las Vegas, but that's also a very minor reason on my part. The reason my boss is so fond of the United States is because of it's Constitution, the Bill Of Rights, the guarantee of civil liberties, personal freedoms…all of those things provide for the nurturing and growth of souls in a protected environment, unlike so many of the other nations that have arisen on the earth."
The general stared at the stranger with a look of perplexed amusement. "That's it? That's what you got to say? Corrosive effect…hmmph! No country lasts forever, anyway. Countries last only as long as they serve the needs of the powerful. Then they become part of history."
"I should remind you that when a nation falls, so does its emperor, Führer or tsar."
"The head of state is merely a celebrity, the cherry on the top of a sundae. When the sundae melts, the cherry just falls away into the slop."
"You don't feel you're at the top?"
"I'm a power broker who manages the top. It's like being a director for a large company. When a company fails and falls, it doesn't affect you…you sail away in your golden parachute. It's the grunts in a company that are left scrambling, like ants who just had their nest dug up. Sometimes it's to your advantage to have a corporation fail, to pull as much money as you can out of it and move on. The same thing with countries. You use its resources to get what you want, then the patriotic grunts and the dimwitted ego maniacs at the top bear the brunt when their flag suddenly means nothing. Individuals like myself take the wealth and the power and become part of a new political reality."
"That's interesting, in light of the fact that you paint yourself as such the patriot."
"Patriotism is like a business suit you wear to board meetings, just something you wear to make you look more official."

"Now that we've determined how you stand on that issue, the primary reason I am here is that my employer also directs me to inform you that he wants you to leave the gay people alone. Particularly, he didn't care for the attacks on Randy Hardwicke and his employer, the detective Lynn Gordon Matson."

"I don't know anything about any attacks…I can't believe somebody would waste their time to warn me about some homos. I bet you just happened to catch me on the street. Well, let me tell you a thing or two about these homo boys…" nervously irritated, the General scratched his chin in a motion like a sewing machine, "most fruits are of not any concern to us. They're either too busy being drama queens or narcissistic fools to be of any threat. The ones who have dramas, no matter how good they have it for themselves, wretchedly overindulge in self pity and that's on a good day. All the prancing, narcissistic homos are only interested in their bling-bling, being outrageous, and showing how rude they can be. Most fags are too obsessed with themselves to have any interest in rights or political issues and they can be bought out in the blink of an eye. That's just the way homos are and the way we want them to be."

"That Matson detective, on the other hand, is one a goddamn nuisance. He's proven to be a lot more capable then we thought he would be. More damn capable for his own good. What in the hell is his problem…was he raised in a canebrake by an old mama lion? Wouldn't be so bad if he would behave like one of the stereotypes, and then fall into step, behave himself. Instead, he's chosen to be his own man, and I find fags with scruples just so very irritating. A good, noble homosexual role model? No, no, no, no. That's just unacceptable…doesn't fit in with our plans. This whole business had nothing to do with some insignificant nothing like Randy Hardwicke, like how much could that little fairy affect the world? This was just a way to get at that Matson, to get the message across to him that when we want to reach out to destroy someone, he shouldn't stand in the way. Instead of being…irritatingly…assertive."

"Why is it you dislike the gays so much?"
"Because I'm normal, so I know what normal is supposed to be and it ain't this fag crap. Besides, I'm used to having everyone do things exactly the way I want them to. Should be just a man on top of a chick and that's it. Maybe two women could get it on while a guy watches, maybe that would be okay."
The man in the dark suit shook his head sadly. The General continued.
"I just don't like fags, period. Don't care for the blacks either, but the jungle bunnies went out and got themselves some political clout and now every time I turn on the TV or go out to a restaurant, I got black faces staring at me from all over the place. I don't intend on letting the same thing happen with the fags. It's also a little political, the gay boys tend to be a bit too liberal, and who needs a big liberal voting block around? In addition to that, some of the Christian churches sell their souls to us if we help them crush the gays."

"Your interest in Mr. Matson and the homosexuals in general, sounds like an obsessive preoccupation to me."
"Sounds to me like someone's got his nose where it doesn't belong," the General turned his head, motioning to his companion to continue their walk back to their vehicle. As the General walked a few steps ahead, he walked right into the dark suited stranger.
"Does this bother you? I'm standing close to you, but I'm not touching you," repeated the stranger. The General jolted, looking at the stranger with anger and surprise. The stranger continued to speak.
"You should really have a life outside of gathering information on homosexuals. Surely, I would think you've find other issues facing the country much more important. Oh, I'm sorry, you probably don't like being called Shirley. Aside from that, that business of having the little girl, Chantay, proposition Randy. My employer thought that was bottom of the barrel reprehensible."
The General's eyes widened, "Little girl…? I don't know anything about any little girl."
"Sure you do, Ace. The team you put together, Gloria, Heidi, Amber, the little girl named Chantay."

"Now I get this," said the General, shaking a finger and shooting a stabbing glare at the stranger, "Gloria, that's who sent you.
That's how you know all this. Your employer…hah! That old bird needs her wings clipped."
The General's companion yelled out a caution and the General ignored his warning, "I don't care if this gets back to her." He pawed at his face lightly with a scratching motion, then began to nibble a bit at one of his fingers. "If you think you're going to accomplish something by allying yourself with that ancient reptile, let me tell you a few things about her. She may think she's a great political strategist, but the only way she's got to where she is now is by marrying and divorcing country bumpkin evangelists. The only way she made her way onto one of our teams is simply because I was doing her husband and her church a favor. So if she thinks she's going to play me, that woman is way out of her league. Besides, that church she belongs to doesn't seem to have the political clout it once used to, so her days with us may be numbered, and sending you here has just speeded up that process."

"No, I only know of Gloria, I was not sent by her," answered the stranger, but the General continued to prattle on.
The General stopped nibbling on one of his fingernails long enough to briefly scratch his forehead and then point his finger in a scolding manner at the stranger. "Gloria's more of a nuisance than a help. It would help if she could keep her hand off some of our young men. It's a waste of our time to have to transfer a valuable member of one our teams, in order to keep him quiet and avoid some sexual harassment issue…all because Gloria tried forcing herself on him…to help bring him closer to Jesus."
The General began scratching the underside of his chin in short strokes. "She confuses her libido with Jesus. I think she'd be a lot more honest and just forgot that Jesus thing and just built an altar to her libido."
The General began nibbling on his fingernails again. "You know what the problem is with Gloria and all women for that matter? They're all codependent. That's what the whole women's movement is about, codependency. But that's good, because that's how we manipulate and control women. They all so afraid that they're going to be stalked and raped by some incredibly good looking and extremely wealthy man." The general guffawed, joined in laughter by his companion. "So we tell them we'll take care of them by taking away some of their rights and privacy. It goes over their head that rape and all that other crap is already against the law. They don't care that the new laws might even be to their disadvantage. Then the same women who are afraid that some man is going to touch them are in a panic thinking that if the faggots go out and get married, that all men will go gay and there won't be any men around who will want to screw their baby makers. So we tell them, let's pass some new laws to keep the fags under control and they don't even care about what the laws are about. See, Gloria might think she's a political player, but she's not. Like all other women, all she has is a codependent fixation on men."

The General's companion interceded, "You shouldn't have these discussions on the street. Don't bother with him, he's just one of the idiots you run into on the streets of San Francisco," and persuaded the General to continue back towards the SUV. However, as the General began to walk towards the SUV, he found himself walking right into the stranger once again. The two men were shocked, quickly glancing back to where the stranger had been standing but was no more.
"You know," said the General, shaking a finger at the stranger, "you're becoming very annoying to me by doing that."
"None of this information came from Gloria. I simply flew in from Vegas with a message for you."
"What were you doing in Las Vegas?"
"I like taking in shows there, Louis Prima and Keely Smith, Eartha Kitt, Sinatra and The Rat Pack and lot of the other truly great entertainers."
"All those performers were…back in the fifties and sixties."
"I prefer taking in Vegas shows of the fifties and sixties when the performers were in their prime. Time is not a hindrance to me, I choose to visit the Vegas of years past."
"This is complete and total nonsense. What is with this street theater haunting?"

"Gloria does not know me, I do not need to get any information from her or anyone else in your employ. My employer knows and I know," informed the stranger, "all of your secrets. All the people who work for you and all of what they do.
"All that business with the little girl," protested the General, "That was Gloria's idea."
"That's bogus, General. Gloria may lay claim to the planning and coordination of a lot of things, but that is merely because she is full of herself. She only imagines herself to be in control. All of this really comes directly from you. I am aware of how this was planned by your consultants and psychologists as the best way to break Randy Hardwicke both emotionally and spiritually, to completely destroy his personal life with the idea that he would have a break down and engage in self destructive, antisocial behavior, so that you could then portray him as a homosexual monster. Your consultants even became aware, after they did some thorough research on Randy's accusers, Sharon and Rocky Ledbauer, that the child molestation accusations seemed to be merely an attempt to force Randy to become involved with a relationship with Sharon or one of the daughters of her sisters. Your personal opinion was that would be the greatest thing that could happen because then poor Randy could then be portrayed as some sort of inbreeding trash. Inbreeding and incest…are those your favorite things, General? All that just to embarrass his boss, the detective Matson and the gay community in general. The many agent provocateurs that you use to embarrass the gays weren't enough, you had to come after Randy Hardwicke. Totally phenomenal, using the power of the state just to destroy one innocent individual. One of the reasons, perhaps, my employer decided to come to his aid. My employer also found your little production of where the child Chantay propositions Randy Hardwicke using some very blunt and crude language, very, very irritating. However, a video tape was made of that little drama, and starting tomorrow, it will be shown on television stations around the world, so your work will be on display for everyone to see."
Alarmed, the General blurted out again, "That was Gloria's idea."
"No it was not, General. I hate to say this, but she was indeed, only following orders. Just like the man named Larry in your employ. The one who plants the bugs, arranges for dirty tricks and has a homicidal hobby of attacking gay men."
The General's eyes widened in concern, "It's only natural for straight guys to go off on gay men. You've got it wrong, if you think any of this will touch me," replied the General, raising one of his legs slightly and making a faint, squeaky fart, "the commanding officers never take a hit. The grunts always take the fall, that's part of their job, never the leaders. The commanders give the orders and the responsibilities for those commands always fall on the grunts. The commanders have to be protected in order…commanders are more strategically important than grunts."
"That's also called avoiding responsibility. Much like what you did when your consultants and psychologists advised your grunts on how to interrogate prisoners. By the way, my employer also has issues with your consultants having prayer breakfasts and praising Jesus right before their courses instructing your grunts how to use rape, forced oral sex and forcing prisoners to lick each other's anuses in an effort to break people's spirits and pry information out of them. My employer feels that it's very important for your consultants to know that prayer and rape are things which are not to be combined, in fact, he finds that concept extremely grating."

"Yes, it's true when the information about the prisoner interrogation techniques that you were using came to light, it was your grunts that took the fall and you remained totally untouched by it. It's a pity that you're so secretive General, because you could be recorded in history as the one who brought the use of sexual kink into the military. It also seems to escape the grasp of you and your consultants that while these techniques don't do much in the way of getting information out of people, they most certainly do guarantee a long term hatred of your country with some unfortunate complications. You are one twisted cat, General. You are perfectly despicable."
'That's not an insult, if you meant it that way," replied the general. "Being despicable is the way you get power and money and get to and stay on top. Being despicable means getting what you want…and then, you know what happens? People admire you. Look…the only way you're going to get people to do what you want them to is through force. You force the homos to go straight, you force people to tell you what they know…and damn the consequences."

"Well, I am one who doesn't admire you," said the stranger, "in fact, I've found this short time I've spent with you, a real downer, man. Let me just lay this on you just one more once. My employer wants to lay off the gay people, completely. Should be simple, just one less thing for you to do."
"And if I don't?"
"You can choose to refuse my employer's instruction, but then you'll notice nothing in your life will seem to go right, in a very subtle, but very effective manner. You'll be given everything you want. You'll be allowed to wallow in every bit of evil you can think of. Then, of course, the consequences of evil will be attracted to you like fresh meat in a piranha tank. Now if this matter were totally left up to me, I don't share my employer's patience. I'd deal a lot more directly and make you and all of your people go away."
"You would, would you?" asked the general, laughing in a staccato, breathy manner, "All by yourself, huh? Just how long if would take you to do that?"
"A second, maybe two."
The General frowned, "The only thing that's a bigger waste of time than an idiot, is talking to one."

"One last little gem of advice to you, mon général…especially lay off Randy Hardwicke, messing with him won't be worth the discomfort."
"What's your special interest with this Hardwicke kid?"
A serious, distant look came to the eyes of the man in the dark suit. His voice lost his wise guy affectation and he stared off into the distance. "A guardian is made to fall deeply in love with his ward. My employer assigned me to feel Randy Hardwicke's pain, his despair and all of his loss, emptiness and sorrow. I could feel his pain just as he felt it in the very core of his soul. That which was too much for him to bear, I also absorbed. All the pain you inflicted upon him was pain that was also inflicted upon me. That's why I have an interest in that little one. If your efforts had succeeded in the loss of his life, I would have felt every bit of the pain of his soul leaving its body. Then my pain would have turned into the need to exact a terrible vengeance."
The General had enough. He brought his face up close to the face of the stranger, speaking quietly but with great anger.
"Look, let me educate you real quick here, boy. I don't think you and your employer, whoever that is…probably some rich faggot, truly appreciate just who I am. Thinking that you're going to scare me by dressing up in some vintage, retro, Las Vegas gangster outfit is the best laugh I think I've had in about a month. If you fruits don't like what I'm doing…well, you'd better get used to it because it's the way things are and the way things are going to be."
"Even without my employer's assistance," added the stranger, "it is the nature of a pendulum to eventually swing back the other way."
The stranger's comments only served to make the General more irritated, and he spoke in a quiet, but intense manner, "Look moron, all you've done is just make life very miserable for yourself and your…employer. Telling me what you know about me is the worst possible thing you could have done, because it's just not good for anyone to know that kind of information. I suppose you thought you could come up to me anonymously on the street like this and not have any repercussions for yourself, but with all the information we collect on people and to the extent we monitor information in this country, it won't be long before I find out who you are and who your employer is and when I do, your sorry asses will be in more trouble than they are now. Anyone who even comes close to embarrassing me finds themselves on very dangerous ground. I have a lot of power on my side, more power than your phantom boss can even realize. A phony wise guy like you had better watch his step, because you might just find yourself pulled into an alley and have your head beaten in, or maybe some white powder sprinkled on your bed, or you could even suddenly find that you've got a bad case of chemical poisoning. First, I think, I'd like to find out as much as I can about you two, so you two boys will first end up in a detention center, stripped naked, tied together face to crotch with used feminine napkins stuffed in both your and your employer's mouths!"

With that, the General and his companion stormed into their SUV, slamming the car doors. Abruptly, a voice came from the back seat. It was the dark suited stranger and he leaned over the front seat much to the terror of the General and his companion. "Does this bother you? I'm close to you, but I'm not touching you." With that, the SUV containing the General and his companion vanished, so quickly that no one on the San Francisco street noticed its sudden disappearance.

The Preacher

Further down on Market Street, the parade neared a preacher and his wife, picketing on a street corner. This particular preacher had come to San Francisco when the hype surrounding the child molestation charges against Randy Hardwicke had reached its zenith, in an effort to capture some of the publicity for himself. Nearly every day the preacher and his family could be found somewhere on Market Street carrying signs denouncing the "homosexual lifestyle" as well as calling for the death penalty for child molesters and homosexuals in general. On this evening, only the preacher and his wife were present, displaying red, white and blue picket signs embellished with crosses and American flags to passerbys. One sign read, "God Hates Fags, Niggers and Jews", another read, "Save The Country - Death Penalty For Homos", and yet another stated, "God Loves Hate". Upon hearing the music and seeing the rainbow flags of the approaching parade, the preacher ran into the street, pulling his wife along. He stood in the middle of the street, waving his picket sign boldly in the air and yelling epithets at the approaching parade, intending on making it stop, or at least make himself the center of attention. As the preacher screamed hate, his wife moaned out, "Who cares for the jilted high school sweethearts?, What of the abandoned high school sweethearts? Where will the high school sweethearts find husbands to support them?"

The mechanical toy soldiers fearlessly marched forward, but lifted their rifles off their shoulders, bayonets pointed at the preacher. The preacher ran forward and confronted the soldiers. "What blasphemy is this?" he screamed, waving his sign in sweeping movements like a weapon and aggressively moving closer to the soldiers. The soldiers stopped and began marching in place. The preacher began making animal like screams, swinging his sign at the soldiers, not yet hitting any of them. His wife was directly behind the preacher, waving signs and screaming as well. In response to the screaming minister steadily approaching them with a swinging wooden sign, the lead toy soldier directed his squad to lift up their weapons and fire. There was a sudden flash from the rifles, along with a gasp from onlookers, and then laughter. The preacher and his wife were covered in layers of colored paper streamers, looking as if they had suddenly been outfitted in rainbow colored Mardi Gras costumes. The preacher was incensed, cursing and condemning everyone around him to the fires of hell as he pulled off the wads of paper streamers. He again marched towards the toy soldiers intending on doing some serious damage with his protest sign.

Before the preacher could march many steps forward, a stream of light zoomed into the space between the angry minister and the toy soldiers, interceding. The golden glow quickly assumed the form of a very handsome, blond young man, naked, save for a swatch of shiny white fabric around his waist, revealing a smooth, muscular body. The figure was slightly out of focus and was framed with a white glow behind it which formed the shape of large wings and the figure appeared to be carrying a golden sword in one hand. The glowing figure of the young man floated gently above the pavement, rocking ever so slightly from side to side as it spoke. "You must leave this place now. I am prepared to defend these souls and this procession. You will lose any confrontation with me. Beware, we two are quite incompatible, we are charged quite differently."

"You must leave this place now."

The preacher would have none of it. He screamed, "Demon…Demon!" The apparition in front of him remained calm and did not respond.
"Only a demon would come to the defense of this blasphemy! Look at it. Look at it all. Look at this country. Mixing of the races…miscegenation, association with Jews, the faggots flaunting sodomy. How can you defend the indecency of the faggots, flaunting their nakedness, the evil things they do with their bodies…?"
"Hear me…" addressed the apparition, "I am an angel of the seventh dimension and I have been assigned to protect these souls. I command you to leave this place and let this procession pass peacefully or risk harm to yourself. I am not offended by the nakedness of humans, it is how they were presented to this realm. Clothing is a product of man. Nor am I offended by any of the physical forms that the humans were given by the Creator. My vision is such that I see the spirit much better than I see the physical form anyway. How humans display their physical form or how they use their bodies, as long as it does not bring harm, is of no interest to me. However…I can see evil and good, with precision."

The preacher pointed towards the parade. "Men aren't supposed to love each other. Why, in during the Civil War, rebel guerillas, whoopin' and hollerin', would take souvenirs from defeated Yankee soldiers while they were still alive, scalps, noses, ears, genitals…how could you expect them to do that if they loved other men?"
"No," said the angel softly, "If they loved other men, I would not expect them to do that at all."
"If all the men started loving each other," continued the preacher, "why, you couldn't get them to fight each other at all. There wouldn't be no wars at all."
"No," smiled the angel wistfully as he gently floated from side to side, "Indeed, they probably would not war at all."
The preacher, grinning with a toothy, angry, deathmask like smile pointed towards the parade. "Those people are not going to produce the babies needed for the soldiers for future wars, for the final conflict."
"No," replied the angel, in a slightly more weary response, "They will have babies, but not with the intention of providing them as soldiers."
"Only a very small number of people are destined to enter the gates of heaven, and I am one of them. You must believe exactly as I do, accept my church as the one and only true church or you will forbidden from entering heaven. Mine is the true religion, nonbelievers will be condemned forever! God told me to hate the faggots, persecute them and work for their extermination."
"Your words are those of self flattery," replied the angel, "All people, simply by being granted existence by the Creator have the right to live and aspire, a right to be treated with a basic dignity regardless of whatever lofty or lowly standing they have. These are people who will bring value and good deeds to this world…"
"Good deeds mean nothing…" interrupted the preacher's wife, screaming, "One act of sexual perversion will send you to hell regardless of how many good deeds you do. God has no mercy for fags. Men are supposed to take care of us women, what good are they otherwise? Kill 'em, who would miss 'em? They're just fags."
"And you…" the angel turned his direction to the wife, "you think nothing of allowing your husband to have sex with your daughters. You have allowed that to happen for years without a protest. You want to condemn these people, yet you seem to ignore your responsibility to protect your own children."
"The husband and father is the lord of the family," the wife rattled back with determination, "Children have an obligation to serve the needs of the father, who is the master and lord of the household. They must obey his wishes, it says so in the Bible. There's nothing wrong with that…it's not like it's dirty like some same sex perversion."
"You are very sad," replied the angel.

The angel turned his attention back to the preacher. "You must now leave this place. You cannot rely on the Old One for assistance…on this night, he is not available to help you." "Old One?" asked the preacher, "I don't know any Old One." "Yes, you do, " corrected the angel, "He is the one who calls you Momus, one who criticizes and ridicules. I know these things, of your pact with the Old One, Lucifer. The Old One lost his ability to love when he fell from grace and his followers also loose their ability feel and to show love. It is probably why you hate these gay people so. Love is so strong with them that they dare to show it even when threatened with persecution. Humans make such low grade demons, you have no other powers than what mischief you can perform as physical beings. In your particular case, the Old One views you merely as a noisemaker. You are no match for any being of light, especially when the Old One is absent. These people and this parade are under my protection, you must leave now, any confrontation with me would be disastrous for you." The preacher remained silent for part of a second, then began screaming and, accompanied with his wife, charged towards the angel, with both people attempting to use the signs they were carrying as weapons. The angel calmly glanced at the preacher's wife and suddenly the sign she was carrying, announcing that "God Loves Hate", shattered into splinters and the woman was sent flying into a dumpster. The preacher was determined to skewer the apparition with his sign and charged forward towards the angel, swinging his sign in several vain attempts to smash the angel. The angel displayed no concern with hardly any reaction to the figure running towards him. He simply held out his sword and the blade lightly touched the preacher's sign, the sign that read, "God Hates Fags, Niggers and Jews". The effect was like that of a piece of plastic film begin held over a flame. The sign immediately buckled and ulcerated with the material of the sign turning into a kind of ash or dust which began falling to the pavement. The effect spread from the sign to the preacher himself, with the man suddenly becoming silent, and his form collapsing upon itself, like an ancient statue tumbling into dust and disappearing altogether. His protection no longer needed, the angel floated away and disappeared and the toy soldiers resumed their march towards Castro Street.

*******

The Terrorists

"Once you let the Old One into your veins, he's the devil to get rid of."

Though their original destination had been the San Francisco Civic Center, the parade had caught the attention of two young men wearing backpacks and they followed the parade down to Castro street, unaware that they were being observed by shadows, and shades and unseen eyes. When the parade had nearly reached Castro Street itself, the two men walked into the center of the parade, and with one man giving a nod to the other, the prepared to pull cords hanging from their backpacks. Immediately, there was a flash of light and a golden form appeared above their heads, turning into a beautiful lady wearing a elegant, pastel, fairy tale like costume. As she hovered over them, she spoke in a delicate and elegant voice.
"I must inform you that the explosives in your backpacks will have no effect on this parade, only yourselves."
"What sort of demon are you?" demanded one of the men.
The men heard the woman floating above them in respond in fluent Arabic, "I am an angel and these people are under my protection. None of them can be harmed."
"Liar!" screamed one of the men, "Women cannot be angels, you are a demon sent here to distract us, to seduce us."
"I am what I am," announced the angel, "it is silly to argue over what is. I have no concern with you at all, I am here to protect my wards. As far as seducing you two…" the angel's voice became more serious, "Not in your wildest dreams, honey."

One of the young men announced, "We are on a mission from God to bring terror to the infidel. Our mission will bring great attention to our cause and virgins will await us in heaven."
"Oh dear," mused the angel, "Has anyone asked the virgins about that? Rubbish, the Creator did not tell you to come here or anywhere else to terrorize and slaughter innocents. The Creator only allowed you to come to this place, however, it was your decisions that brought you here. The suggestions, the urgings you heard to come here, were that of the Old One. You should be very careful of that one," warned the angel, "Once you let the Old One into your veins, he's the devil to get rid of."</