Bel stepped off of the curb and crossed the street towards The Glass Slipper. He looked across the outdoor seating for any sign of Sera, cigarette and martini in hand, but she wasn’t there yet.

“Figures,” he said to himself as he stepped up onto the next curb and walked around the corner to the entrance to the bar.

The Glass Slipper was a queer dive, and while Bel always felt welcomed when he walked in, there was a nagging part of him that felt as though he shouldn’t be there, that he hadn’t earned this safe space, and should only come as someone else's’ plus one. He knew that was asinine, and that no one would look at him differently, but it still got to him. He’d mentioned the feeling to Sera once, and after calling him an idiot, she pointed out that the feeling he got when he walked into the bar was the feeling that she got when she walked out of it. That wasn’t the day that Bel learned about ‘privilege,’ but it was certainly the first time the word resonated with him.

He and Sera hadn’t been fast friends. She was a cook in the kitchen when he was hired as the general manager, and as anyone who has worked in a restaurant can tell you, an outside hire on the management roster is the most hated person on the crew. Bel tried his best to maintain a balance of prior experience and a willingness to learn a new location, but he’d be the first to admit that he fucked it up pretty badly when he started. Sera was one of the voices that had no problem calling him out on his shit, and almost from day one, they’d been at each other’s throats.

It wasn’t until one particularly nasty winter dinner service that it changed. Every other cook called out, leaving Bel and Sera to work the kitchen three cooks short on a Friday night. Times like those were crucibles for cooks. You either temper yourself in the fire, or you lose your shit and break. Bel had been impressed by Sera’s work, and later Sera would tell him the same thing. That was the night that a mutual respect was born, and over time, it blossomed into a close comradery. While Bel wouldn’t go so far as to call Sera his best friend, they maintained a playful antagonism that neither of them took too seriously, and when push came to shove, each of them knew they could count on the other.

Bel stepped into the bar’s entryway, a small room decorated in Poloroid pictures of patrons. Bel always tried to focus on one—just one—and appreciate the person in that moment. Today it was an older man, probably in his late 50s or early 60s, wearing a Misfits tank top with a bright green dyed mohawk. The man’s exposed arms showed two full sleeves of tattoos, though the image had faded with time, and Bel couldn’t tell what they were of. He was smiling widely and holding up a rubber chicken by the feet. Out of context, the picture made no sense, but in that moment, that man’s joy was so contagious that Bel didn’t care what the context was.

“Good for you, green mohawk dude.” He smiled and pushed open the next set of doors and entered the bar proper.

Stephan, the full-time bouncer, gave him a nod as he walked in.

“No Sera today?” he said.

Bel rolled his eyes. “She’ll be here. She’s just taking her sweet-ass time, I’m sure.”

Stephan laughed, “Well, she was in rare form last night. I think she did most of Grease and an encore of I Can Hear The Bells from Hairspray. She might be pretty fucking hungover.”

Bel snorted. “She’s been working on Hairspray for a while now. I wish she would have told me she was gonna go for it. Maybe I could have brought some flowers or something.”

“I think it was the third or fourth vodka soda that convinced her.” Stephan jokingly held up six fingers.

“She’s turning into a lightweight. We used to share a bottle of gut rot after work between the two of us. Either way, though, I’m gonna grab a beer. If she walks in and hasn’t seen me yet, let her know I’ll be outside. In the cold. Waiting. Cold. Alone. In the cold.” Bel laid the melodrama on thick.

“I’ll send her your way.” Stephan gave Bel a thumbs up. “Oh, we just started up the fall cocktail list. Give the Pumpkin Carriage a try.”

Bel shook his head and sighed.

The Glass Slipper wasn’t just a queer dive, it was a queer dive with a theme, and that theme was Cinderella. The original owner, Rio, was a drag queen from Vegas that retired to Portland in the 80s. They’d started The Glass Slipper as an homage to the fairy godmother that could show the world how beautiful Cinderella truly was. Rio thought of themself as that fairy godmother, though changed slightly, they called themself the Fairy GodOther. They had wanted a place for people that didn’t feel like they were right and to create a safe space where they could help give others the confidence that Cinderella had when she put on the glass slipper. And they made it happen. While The Glass Slipper wasn’t as popular as some other bars like CC Slaughters, it had a place in the community as a bar where you could go to be who you believed you should be.

When Rio died in 2007, the staff mounted a framed picture of them on the bar, wearing their famous Fairy GodOther drag gown. It was customary to press your lips to your fingers and then touch the frame, as a sign of thanks to the Fairy GodOther themself. Bel did just that as he walked up to the bar.

The bartender was new, and Bel wasn’t sure what their name was yet, so it was hard to flag them down with their back turned. A few throat clears and an elbow on the bar later, and the bartender turned.

“Oh, hey, sorry. I was trying to learn all the new cocktails. What can I get you?”

Bel waved it off. “No worries. I was told I should try the Pumpkin Carriage. What’s it got?”

“Oh, that’s an easy one. Pumpkin Spice Liqueur, Cointreau, a splash of prosecco and a cinnamon sugar rim, garnished with an orange peel, and served in a martini glass.”

Bel winced. “That sounds fucking terrifying. I’ll take two. Just hold back on the second one for Sera when she gets here.”

“I don’t think Sera liked this one.”

Bel laughed, “She should have been here to order her own damned drink, then.”

The bartender smiled. “Fair enough. You wanna keep a tab open?”

Bel nodded and handed his card over. He watched as the bartender worked. They were obviously new. He could see their hands shaking slightly as they fiddled with the jigger to get the measurements right. Bel noticed they hadn’t rimmed the glass before they started pouring, but he honestly didn’t care.

The bartender slid the glass towards him with a smile. “Enjoy.”

Bel took the glass with a nod. “I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced yet. I’m Bel. It’s nice to meet you.”

The bartender flashed a bright grin. “Oh, hi, Bel. It’s great to meet you too. I’m Monica.”

Bel stifled a cough. “Monica.” The name stuck in his throat like a pumpkin spice cocktail. “Well, I won’t forget it.”

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

Walking away from the bar, Bel resisted the urge to take a sip of the cocktail that was dangerously close to climbing over the brim of the glass for fear of whatever reaction he might have to it. So intent on the drink was he that he nearly walked into someone else as they stepped into the bar. Bel looked up at the last moment to see a stout middle-aged man in a Punisher T-shirt and a Thin Blue Line baseball hat.

Well, this won’t end well.

There were only two reasons someone like this guy would walk into a bar called The Glass Slipper. Either it was costume night, and the theme was punchable faces, or he wanted to start shit. Bel turned and saw Stephan standing as the man passed. Mr. Blue Lives was going to learn the hard way that queer bars don’t hire beefcake bouncers just for looks.

Out on the patio, Bel tugged the zine from his back pocket and took a seat. He didn’t open it immediately, instead he just looked around. The sun was getting low in the sky despite it still being early afternoon—typical for Portland this time of year. There were still no clouds, though, and Bel enjoyed the shreds of sunlight that filtered through the horizon line of the east side. It was calming for him. Simple. He didn’t have a care in the world.

That was a lie, and immediately Bel’s gut shifted as he thought about Monica leaving him, and not having a job, and the earthquakes…

The earthquakes. They were so odd. Three so far, and they hadn’t been small. Even so, no one seemed to talk about them. Hell, come to think of it, he felt like it was strange that the bar was even open. Then again, the world had been pretty fucked up over the last few years, so maybe everyone had just gone with the flow on this one. Sure, why not? Earthquakes. I’ll mark it on the bingo card.

Bel looked at the drink on the table. He sighed and took a sip.

“Ugh! Fuck!” He had to stop himself from spitting it out. It was pure sugar. “Who the fuck thought this was a good idea? I’ll get a hangover just thinking about it too much. Jesus.” It didn’t stop him from taking another sip, though. The second time, it was a bit more palatable, as he was prepared for the shock of it, but it was still cloyingly sweet. He let out another sigh and opened the zine.

Less than ten minutes later, and Bel heard the patio door swing open behind him.

“Hey Stephan, we got a bum out here.”

Bel closed his eyes and let his head lull backwards. “I don’t think bum is PC anymore, Sera.”

She walked around the table and sat down, Pumpkin Carriage in hand. Her hair was a new color. The once firetruck red curls were now replaced with a burgundy bun, and she wore the eye shadow to match. “Fine. Out of work, lazy-ass line cook. Better?”

Bel ignored her jabs. “I see you got my drink.”

Sera, in turn, ignored Bel’s. “And you met the new bartender. Monica. How you feeling about that?”

“Oh, fucking peachy, thanks. By the way, how’d you hear already? You sent me a text, like, an hour after it happened.”

“Monica texted me. Told me you’d probably need a friend.”

Bel scrunched his face and drew in a long breath. “Fuck.”

“Yeah, Bel. You really fucked up this time. She was a good one. One of the best. Saintly, even.”

“Oh, please, twist the knife a little more.”

Sera took a sip of her drink and screwed up her face. “What did you do? Did she read you the riot act, or just take her things and bounce?”

Bel exhaled. “Oh, she gave me bullet points.”

“Fuuuuuck.”

“Yep. You know all the shitty things I do?”

“Of course,” Sera said with a smirk.

“Well, apparently, so did she, and she didn’t hold back on telling me about them.”

Sera chuckled and took another sip. “Christ, this shit is terrible.”

“Tell me about it.” Bel raised his glass. “To the single life.”

Sera looked sheepishly at her glass and didn’t move. It took a second, but Bel caught on.

“No. You didn’t. Who?”

“Just some guy I met here last night.”

“Then it's not serious, is it?”

Sera played shy and looked away. “I don’t know. Maybe. He took me out to breakfast this morning, and then we went back to my place, again—”

“And that’s enough of that.” Bel held up a hand. “But on the subject of last night, I heard you did Hairspray. How’d it go?”

“Fucking amazing!”

Bel pumped his fist. “Fuck yeah! Congrats!”

Sera was beaming. “I was so nervous, but everyone was singing along and laughing. Ugh, I love it. I think I’ll do a few more songs next time. You know, change up the repertoire.” She took another wincing sip on the cocktail and then looked at the zine in front of Bel. She snatched it and held it up as though she were reading a diary.

“It’s a zine.” Bel tried to snatch it back, but Sera jerked away.

“Yeah, grandpa, I know. Where’d you get it?”

“Clerk at the Plaid on my way over. Said he was trying to bring them back.”

Sera flipped through the pages, scanning each one, and then stopped. “Today I learned that the last Blockbuster Video Store is located in Anchorage, Alaska.” She looked thoughtful for a moment. “Huh. I didn’t know that.”

Bel cocked his head. “That’s wrong.”

Sera set the zine down. “What do you mean?”

“It’s not in Alaska. It’s in Oregon, in Bend. Monica and I went there last year on the way down to the redwood forest.”

“Maybe there are two?”

Bel gave her an incredulous look. “No. The one in Anchorage closed, like, five years ago. The zine is wrong.”

Sera doubled down. “No, it’s not. It can’t be. It’s printed right here.”

Bel let out an exasperated sigh. “Oh, my god. Here, I’ll pull it up on my phone.”

Bel picked his phone off the table and opened the maps app. He maneuvered to Bend and searched for ‘Blockbuster’. Nothing. He tried ‘video store’. A mom-and-pop store, but no Blockbuster. He tried ‘video rental’, ‘DVD rental’, and a few others. Still nothing. He gave up on the maps app and opened his browser. No results in Google.

Sera saw the defeat on Bel’s face and smiled. “Oh, it’s a rough day for Belmont.”

“Fuck you, I know it’s there. I bought a shirt while I was there. It’s in my closet at home. I’ll send you a pic of it when I get back.”

“Uh-huh.”

Bel dropped his phone on the table in mock frustration.

Sera stood up. “I gotta tinkle, watch my bag—”

Pop. Pop. Pop.

The sound came from inside the bar. Bel instantly recognized it, and his stomach twisted.

A man burst out of the side door and sprinted past the patio fence. Bel knew him. It was the Blue Lives guy.

Bel was up in a flash. He flung his chair backwards and ran to the fence. One hand on the rail, and he sent both of his legs over at once. The man was half a block away. Bel pushed off the fence and ran for him.

He hadn’t run in years, not seriously, but he still had some wind in him. Bel pushed as hard as he could, and he was gaining. The man turned the corner past a bodega and Bel followed. Through some parked cars on the side of the road, across a yard, into an unpaved alleyway. Bel kept gaining, little by little. Then, the man slipped. He didn’t fall, but he lost his balance and went down to a knee. The unpaved gravel seemed to be enough to break the man’s spirit, and he wasn’t able to quickly recover. The exertion was catching up to the over-weight man. Bel saw his opportunity. He took three full strides and lept towards him with all his might.

The head on collision with the heavier man knocked the wind from Bel’s lungs. His chest made contact with the man’s shoulder, and it was like jumping onto a cement pylon. He swung his arms around and attempted to grapple the man, but he wasn’t in a dominant position. The man—still on one knee—shoved Bel off, stood up, and started running again.

It took Bel a second to stand, still trying to catch his breath. It was too late. The man was gone, now. He’d turned a corner, and Bel had no idea where he was running. He’d lost him.

“Fuck.” Bel coughed. The realization dawned on him. There’d been gunshots. It hadn’t even crossed his mind, but he’d just abandoned Sera and went after the guy. Panic set in.

Bel turned on his heels and started running back with everything he had left.

Rounding the corner to the bar, he took the main entrance instead of jumping the fence again. As soon as he entered, he stopped short and put a hand out onto the wall.

“Holy shit.”

The first thing Bel noticed was the smell. It reeked like shit and sick. Then he looked at the ground. One of the bar regulars, someone named Mike, he thought, was face down, collapsed from their barstool, a pool of blood forming under their torso. It took a moment to notice the second person on the ground, because to Bel, it didn’t register as a person. He looked, trying hard to reconcile what he was seeing. Then it came to him. It was Stephan on the floor, but half of his face was missing. Sera was on the ground beside him, sobbing.

Bel’s vision dimmed around the edges, and he felt his knees buckle, and then fail completely. He dropped to the floor, coughing, and vomited.