The closer I get to Saturday, the more I doubt whether I’ll actually end up going. I did already buy the ticket. It was less than thirty dollars. I could easily eat the cost of the ticket. I’ll end up spending loads more if I go anyway on food and such.

No.

I have to get out of my apartment.

Come Saturday morning, I’m full-blown panic. Who the hell doesn’t have any green in their wardrobe?

Me! That’s who!

I mean, who wears green normally? It doesn’t go with anyone’s complexion unless they have green eyes and it brings them out, which I don’t.

Shit. I’m glutton for punishment. Screw it. I’ll just buy a street t-shirt or something. They are sold cheap all over Atlanta, especially today.

I settle for a black button up. What am I going to a funeral?

It’s tossed aside.

How about the navy blue one? It brings out my eyes.

No. It’s too similar to the blue jean color. I’ll look washed out.

Focus, Thad. You’ve got this.

I throw on a black undershirt with a loose collared teal shit that I wear unbuttoned down to my sternum. It’s a fair compromise.

Who am I kidding? I’m five feet seven which makes me so damn short that it doesn’t matter what I wear. I won’t be noticed.

I’ve hit the gay scene in Atlanta before. It’s a bunch of hunks that spend their time hitting the gym whose second hobbies are banging one another for even more exercise. I’m pretty sure most of them wax at least half of their bodies. At least I look younger than my age dressed like this with my hazel hair styled. I have that going for me which isn’t much if I’m honest.

I look in the mirror.

Shit. I look like someone either not trying hard enough or too hard and I can’t tell which.

Oh well. Fuck it.

That should be my motto today. It’s the only way I’m getting through it.

Fuck it.

I grab my keys and head for the door.

“Wish me luck, Phil!”

Yep, I need this.