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SANTA FE – I poked him.His puffy torso stuffed with hundreds of Styrofoam peanuts, I don’t think he felt it. He certainly didn’t turn and say, “Hey, weirdo, keep your fingers to yourself.”Of course, dancing at the Cowgirl on Halloween, it is hard to keep one’s body to oneself, whether packed with peanuts or not. Shoulders, backsides and other disguised parts bounce and sway inches away from each other, at most. Everyone loves the DJ with his xylophone trance music, and then later, the trio Zoe Fitzgerald, Time-Traveling Transvestite. Everyone wears eyeliner. Hardly anyone wears pants: This is a night for fishnets, gaudy maid uniforms and bright pink wigs, regardless of your gender. A furry-skirted man and a woman wearing mostly body paint grin at a waitress passing through with somebody’s french fries high over her head. Breath, armpits, hairsprays and other odors blend sociably with the beer. “Has anyone seen a f------ nun?” a man’s voice calls out.
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