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Dead Gay Indian

I smoked meth for the first time when I was 22. In the methiest, messiest, most disgusting bar bathroom I'd ever been in, and I hadn't been in too many before. In the middle of Wyoming. At The Zoo. Or The Rendezvous. On the back tank of the toilet. Friends had brought me here.

I was awake for three days. 

I finally fell asleep.

My friend died the next day.

He'd been awake for seven days. He was diabetic. His boyfriend beat him. He walked out in the snow, barefoot, and died.

They found his body the next morning. Frozen, bruised and barefoot, in the snow.

No investigation was ever attempted.

A gay boy dies on the Wind River Reservation. 

No one seems to notice. 


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