A pedestrian’s guide to urban life and other thoughts on Walking While Gay
By Scott King
I’M TOO GAY TO DRIVE. I can’t drive a car. I can’t drive a hard bargain. I’ve heard I can drive you crazy though – with my love.
I have not been banned from any of the aforementioned activities, nor have I ever been pulled over for DWG (that’s Driving While Gay, for those of you reading from a position of privilege). It’s just not a good idea.
I can’t drive straight at all. I prefer “queerly forward.”
Don’t tell anyone, but I have busted at least two tires on street curbs, not because I was drunk or fiddling with the stereo, but because I was distracted by all the beautiful babes. I see god in everyone.
WHAT DOES ALL THIS HAVE TO DO with global warming? Well, like I said, I’m too gay to drive. As in, I care too much. As in, I’m better than you. As in, I prefer to loiter.
As in, it’s getting hot in here. So take off all your clothes. And walk on down the road. You’ve been working out. And it shows.
Driving your car, and, yes, sitting in traffic, is detrimental to the environment, because of the CO2 emissions and because of the bad mood it puts you in.
Global warming, not Trump or gay people, is the reason we’ve all had ashy air due to the flaming wildfires in north and now south Georgia. It’s not because we’re proud or flamboyant. It’s because we drive cars too much.
I HAVEN’T DRIVEN A CAR in two years. I also haven’t done cardio or gained an ounce of weight in two years. Funny that.
I walk to work. I walk to the train. I walk to the bus. I walk to the gym. I walk to the grocery store. I walk to the bar. The whole time I’m checking out new tunes, new scenes, and your junk.
Straight people also like to walk. When they are in a couple, they hold hands. When they are by themselves, they ask you if the burrito place is good. And they will flirt back. Get out of my car, and into my life. #tacotuesday
I don’t see that many gay people out and about on my walks. They’re usually in their cars. Trying not to hit me as they pull out of a fashionable parking lot.
True story. Three days before I submitted this article, I was walking down Piedmont Avenue, and I almost got hit by a car full of gays pulling out of the Burkhart’s parking lot. It was daylight. They were chatting away happily and did not see all six foot three of me as I was cruising them. Two of them were pretty cute. I didn’t cuss at all.
IMAGINE IF YOU COULD TURN that simple errand of running to get some headache medicine or body spray into an epic journey of the soul. Smell the trees. Smell the flowers. Run away from the bees. Run away from the hours.
You don’t have to worry about running someone over with your nice car. Because you’re not driving one.
All you’ve got is your sneakers and your backpack and your phone and your wits. It’s all you need, really. If you see me out there, just give me the bro nod, and I’ll know that it’s you.
One of my favorite things about being gay, besides making sweet, sweet love to/with men, is the feeling of being untethered. We get to choose to have spouses or extended families or kids. It’s not necessarily expected or possible as a biological accident. And it is so groovy, y’all.
If I’m feeling antsy or bored at the haus, I can just walk out that door, turn one of four different directions, and have an adventure. If I drove a car, I feel pressure to go somewhere.
But I don’t. So I go my own way.