Back then, the club was tiny in a charming way, and consisted of three distinct rooms-one chill, the others high energy. Early on in my undergrad career, Pulse had been a part of my regular going-out rotation Florida’s best drag queens performed there, and you could count on the DJ to play good music. Upon entering Pulse, the friends joined their chosen "family," a term members of the LGBT community often use to describe ourselves.īut this club, one of the most popular gay venues in central Florida, was more than just a place to buy a few drinks and flirt with members of the same sex (or whomever we found attractive that night). On the way there, they laughed and talked and argued about the merits of veggie dogs. Three of them lived in the same apartment complex, and going out together felt natural-a ritual they needed to escape the rote monotony of daily bullshit. On a normal Saturday night in Orlando, four men, in their 20s and early 30s, hopped in an Uber to a night club called Pulse, one of their regular spots.
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