The other day I take the train to Dublin with J, to attend the opening of R's group art exhibition. There are oysters on ice and chocolate truffles in the shape of breasts, with tiny red nipples. I drink a little too much wine during the long speeches. R’s work came from our collaborative project. It is amazing to see the legs of our project, which started because I wrote a little text responding to the photos she posted on Instagram, evolving into a photobook funded by the Arts Council, stocked in Belfast and Dublin, drawing the attention of curators and finally featuring in a major exhibition in one of the most respected art galleries in the country.

Afterwards J, J's friend, and I have dinner at an odd place: because the Korean restaurant is closing for cleanup, we eat bulgogi in the pub next door, which has little Irish flags hanging from the rafters, a Korean flag in the window, and an inordinately large staff of young Korean and South Asian people. The pub itself is nearly empty, but apparently the beer garden is packed with stoners. One patron, a waspish old man wearing sunglasses, nods flirtatiously at J as he taps his way out using a blind man's cane.

After dinner I split up with J and her friend, thinking I'd have a drink with R, but R is getting dinner and plans to return to her accommodation. So I wander northside looking for J, texting the husband about same, which prompts a phone call. (Dublin is split into two by the Liffey (Abhainn na Life in Irish): northside is rougher and not as busy at night as southside.) We end up in a couple of gay bars, one on Capel Street, and the other south of the river, on St. George's Street, which is owned by drag queen and gay rights' activist Panti Bliss.

We dance and drink too much and meet young gay people. Among them are a black Irish-born dude who declares himself an "anti-capitalist leftie millennial", and a gay Traveller dude and his tall lanky lady best friend, both Dubliners. J and her friend tell me how much they're into queer culture, they really like the vibe, and they'd love to be gay.

Everyone tells me how young I look. I smile wryly. I'm already tired and ready for bed. I look at their young faces, not yet worn down by life's trials, and think that maybe it's not queer culture that J and her friend love, but how on a Wednesday night, there's people still eager to make the most of a dance floor despite a bad day at work or the general horror of the world.

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