To set the stage, let me first say that I own a charming well maintained bungalow in the alphabet streets of Salt Lake City’s Sugar House district. The neighborhood is gentrified with 60-70 foot sycamores lining streets that could have come directly from a Frank Capra movie. The residents are a mix of the religious and irreligious, the young and the old, the wealthy and the middle class. This being Sugar House, there are a smattering of homes owned by members of the “Family.”
Russ, my roommate, has a 3X4 foot rainbow flag that he insists on hanging on our front porch. It’s not just on display for the Pride Festival; it is hanging for all to see day after day, week after week, month after month.
