On my first day at work I looked at my impossibly camp, impeccibly dressed colleague; I swallowed my fear and asked, “Are you gay?”
He laughed, “Yes, sweetie. What gave me away?”
Two days later I sat at a hotel bar, with a whisky on the rocks and a book, waiting for a meeting to start.
“That’s not very social,” My boss said as he sat down beside me. He was an imposing man, tall and strong, smartly dressed.
“I’m sorry,” I stammered, “I-I just don’t know anyone.”
“Why did you leave your country?” I noticed his African accent.
To get away from judgement, from my parents, from the old me, I said.
“Me too,” he took a sip of my whisky without asking and walked off, calling us into the meeting room.
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