Body Of Evidence

On Friday, a few minutes just before midnight, my flatmates and I were roused from our peace and quiet upon hearing a loud banging of the steel gate of our building and the frantic running of several people in our hallway. Gil and Razel looked out from the balcony and I hurried to the peephole and looked through it. Cops. They were there to raid our neighbor.

After more than 2 hours, my neighbors-- 20 of them-- were loaded onto a van and taken away. The press, along with the police, left as well.

Before they did, I had already updated my Facebook status to:

Rye Bautista 's building is being watched by cops, photographers and nosy neighbors and he has no idea why.

Friends posted comments, but none of them really showed that they were alarmed. The running joke was, they were looking for a drag queen: my sister, La Chiquitta. It was funny. But then I got to thinking, if that evening, the legislators of the HK government changed their minds and decided that homosexuality was a crime after all and the cops came to my flat to arrest me, there was no way I could deny the allegations. They won't even need a witness, just a few photos.

Would they buy it if I said, this was a religious altar...

...and that this was MY god?

That this was the angel that watched over our door so that evil would never come in?

And what about the 6-inch boots and the other 15 pairs of high heels (not all Chiquitta's by the way)? Sacred footwear that lead us to eternal bliss, perhaps?

Oh, and we haven't even reached the bedroom. Death sentence!