“Chase,” he said warmly, loudly. “Good to see you, man.”
He looked down at my clothes, then back up with theatrical concern.
“Did you Uber here?”
A few people laughed.
Nothing huge. Just enough.
That was the thing that hurt most. Not the line itself. The permission behind it. The tiny social cue to the surrounding crowd that I was safe to mock because my place had already been assigned.
I smiled the way you smile when someone tries to slap you in public and you decide not to give them the satisfaction.
