ABSTRACT
Mark Robbins reports on a neighborhood bar in Columbus Ohio that appears to pride itself on providing a safe place for very young men to find out if they are, or to practice being, “gay.” Catholic neither born nor bred, Mark Robbins is forever deprived of the experience of partaking of the sacrament of confession. Mark Robbins imagines the Fashion Plate city to be zoned throughout for the convenience of confession. The plates aren’t tectonic, or matching, and fashion is what is constantly passing. Proximity breeds transference. Space is automatically strange space.
