You and Frank have been mates for years. Like, 17 of 'em. You met him at his small psychology classes he would take after highschool, before his band went off. And you've just been good, good friends since.

The other week Frank, your friend of so many years, put on a nice dress, makeup, a wig, tights. He never took gendered items seriously. And when you saw her you knew the only girl you'd ever love was Frankie in drag.

It really was a pity she didn't exist. Or maybe a shame he wasn't a fag. Because you fell in love, you think, with Frankie in drag. In the way she would smoke a cig or the way she would manspread even though she had that dress on.

It was all a joke. You thought it would be funny. An idea between you and your friends casually when you were passing a joint around. The idea of a tattoo man in his mid-30's in a skirt and a wig. And he did it. And now the only one you'd anything is Frankie in drag.

You'll never see that girl again, because he did it as a gag. But God you'd fucking sign your life away for Frankie in drag.

Everyone could see the frantic thought in your head by just looking at you. Even Frank. He was concerned. And as you weakly played guitar, your mind obviously somewhere else at the group jam sesh in Frank's house, he grabbed your shoulder.

"You okay?"

You'll have to pine away forevermore for Frankie in drag.