A long line has already formed: queer hipsters, club kids, muscle boys in leather. We’ve traveled 30 minutes outside of central Mexico City for a party, far from the cobblestone streets and tree-lined avenues of downtown-here, only tall chimneys reach at the night sky. The first thing I hear that confirms we’re not lost is the pulsing beat of music, out of place in the dark and quiet industrial wasteland where our Uber driver dropped us off. This post is part of Outward, Slate’s home for coverage of LGBTQ life, thought, and culture. What’s Happening at Starbucks and Target Is Much Grimmer Than It Seems How Did We Fall for the Fraud of Corporate Pride? Patriarchy Hurts All Of Us - Including Men What to Do When the Campaign Against Trans People Feels Overwhelming
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