“Well, things are getting worse,” she began. Then she glanced toward me and kind of gestured with her chin. “Are you sure she’s all right?”
“Yes, Mike, I told you already,” said Agnes.
“Well, things are getting bad. I’m being arrested almost every week now. The usual charge of masquerading, only now it’s like I’m on the LAPD shit list.” She looked right at me, I guess to see if I’d be shocked by the sailor talk. I didn’t blink, and she went on. “I’m on their list now, and I guess I’ve become a regular with them.”
“Oh, you’re anything but regular, Mike,” Agnes said, smiling.
“Tell me about it. Cripes. You know, sometimes they don’t even book me official. That way my friends and family have no idea where I even am for two days.”
“Well, listen, dear,” Agnes continued. “Barbara and I checked the codes like you asked me to, and I’ve got some good news. The courts already ruled on this in 1950. Women are not breaking the law just because they’re wearing men’s clothing. Impersonation is no longer illegal.” Then Agnes handed her a piece of paper.
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