It seemed like any other bar at the time.

            Walking along the dark street, and struggling to keep my stomach from devouring itself, the first thing I saw were the big letters running vertically along the side of the building: “Stonewall Inn". Beneath them rested a fogged window and a closed door, with a few Furren lined up and waiting. When they did eventually open, cheers and singing echoed through the bustling car honks and tonight's summer windchill.

            Waiting behind the Furren (a pencil-thin ocelot and some kind of canine-vixen hybrid in a miniskirt), I couldn't have felt more impatient and nervous. I didn't know if humans were common in Greenwich, but the accusatory glances I'd seen from Furrens on the train ride here didn't help what little self-confidence I had. I felt even more naked out in the open street, despite wearing my dad's old long coat.

            When I eventually got to the door, I knocked on it once, and a pair of canid yellow eyes appeared through the speakeasy grate that slid open.

            “Uh, hi…" I waved meekly.

            “How old are you?"

            “E-Eighteen?"

            “…go away." The grate closed shut.

            “Wait, please let me in!" I pleaded, one hand outstretched on the wooden door. “I'm hungry and need food!"

            “Beat it, kid." The gruff voice ordered through the door. “Go before I make you."

            “Please, I was told this place was a refuge for—"

            “Hey, Hugo!" a deep voice spoke up beside me. “Don't worry. He's with me."

            Glancing to my left, I was surprised to see a tigress in a pair of long jeans and a black wifebeater that clashed against her bright orange fur. Her tail arched behind her with a confidence I never knew, and her headfur was cropped down short enough for me to mistake her for a male, if it weren't for her chest that pushed outward.

            “Whatever you say, Stormé," the bouncer grunted in reply, “but if there's trouble, he's outta here."

            The tigress nodded before firmly grabbing my hand. Her furry paw felt warm compared to the cool air outside. “Come on then, you look like you could eat."

            Before I could say anything, I was pulled inside and found myself momentarily lost in the music. Past a crowded and an ocean of dancing forms, someone sang a current classic on karaoke, but my eyes were on the patrons around me. As Stormé grasped my hands with her paw, I witnessed things unheard of in society; two masculine wolves hugging and dancing intimately, a vixen in trucker's clothing dancing next to a lioness, followed by laughter when two muscled men started kissing underneath a blinking light. Seeing fellow humans in this place caused a swell of kinship to rise in me, but I was more shocked to see something even more unheard of outside: in the far corner, by the exit, stood a cougar and dark-skinned woman, kissing muzzle-to-lips without a single care for their little taboo.

            “Is this legal?" I mumbled to myself, only for the tiger to twitch her ears in my direction. Part of me forgot they could hear well, even in a loud place like this.

            The sight alone made me do a doubletake. Then I remembered how this place was supposed to be a safe haven for those like us. When I was thrown out of the house, I heard this was a place where a faggot like me could live and breathe, and here I was.

            Soon, we came to the long table and sat on some booths. “Hey, Stormé!" the bartender, an effeminate canine of some kind, waved at us. “Who's your friend there?"

            “He was freezing outside, and I felt a little sorry," she answered for him. “Can you get us a couple of sandwiches for him. Put it on my tab, will ya Frank?"

            “Sure thing. Any drinks for you?"

            “Give us two screwdrivers. Actually," she held up a paw and laughed, “make that one screwdriver and a water for the human boy." The tigress turned to me as the bartender got to work on her drink. “Tell me then, what's your name anyway? Or am I going to have to keep calling you 'human boy'?"

            I couldn't help but let a chuckle escape my throat.

            “You can do that if you want to…" I mumbled, taking the glass of water and drinking from it. “Doesn't matter anyway. I'm dead to my mom and dad…"

            “Let me try this again then," she sighed understandingly. “My friends call me Stormé, but not 'Stormy'. No, you pronounce the 'e' like you do 'resume'." She raised a paw. “And you?"

            “…Caleb," I shook it firmly. “I'm from Boston."

            “Nice to meet you Caleb from Boston," she smiled. “I could tell by the accent you weren't from around here, but that's pretty far of a distance for a runaway, right?"

            “Yeah."

            At long last, her screwdriver glass and my sandwich came, and neither of us hesitated to devour them. By the time I was halfway through hungrily devouring it, she'd already drunk half of the tall glass.

            “So, what brings," the tigress burped slightly, “all the way out here, little human?"

            “Oh, you know…the usual…" I mumbled between bites. “I heard Greenwich is a good place…to start over…"

            “Is that so? And do you have somewhere to stay?"

            I shook my head.

            She exhaled after a long drink. “If you need a place, I have—"

            “Police! We're taking the place!"

            In an instant, all the lively music and dancing died down. Me and Stormé immediately froze in place before turning to see policewolves drain into the bar, their disgusted eyes staring us all down.

            “Listen, you stick with me," I heard her whisper beside me, “and I'll make sure you walk out of here tonight. You got it, Caleb?"

            I felt frozen in place, only able to hold onto her paw.

            “Caleb?"

            “…yes."

            “Good, because if these coppers think they can keep doing this to us, they're wrong."