Lee hates this, that there are so many people here and they can all see her being weak. She wants to be alone so desperately but there's nowhere else to go. She needs to talk to Michael, there's something important she knows she has to say, but she's not sure how to shape the words right, they keep slipping out of her grasp. Her head feels foggy. It's starting to drizzle again, though not hard enough to push anyone back indoors just yet, and the dampness feels all right on her face and hair, so she's not about to complain about it.
She takes the cigarette, though maybe she shouldn't, her stomach is still upset. She has to light it on the end of Sinclair's.
A small group of men pass by, unremarkable-looking, traveling in a pack as if for safety as opposed to the kind you'd see going around looking for trouble. “Merry Christmas, ya homos,” one of them comments before distributing a smattering of flyers before they move on. Since he's obviously one of them, nobody jumps on him for saying it. They're all a little on edge. Instead someone else picks one of the flyers up, reads it aloud: “Get the mafia and the cops out of gay bars.” He snorts and crumples it up. “Tell us something we don't know.”
Lee rubs her face with the back of her hand. “Have you seen Gabby?” She hasn't seen her anywhere, and now she's worried. People are saying the cops took some people downtown.