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When I began writing Flush, I envisioned a story that would shimmer unapologetically, bursting with all the glitter, grit, and grace of the queer existence. This play, set in the fluorescent haze of a nightclub bathroom, transforms a fleeting, messy moment into something sacred—a loud, vibrant love letter to the lives and stories we often keep behind closed doors.

The bathroom in Flush isn’t just a setting. It’s a confessional, a battleground, a sanctuary. It’s where we come to touch up our faces and confront our truths, to steal kisses and carry scars. Within these graffiti-covered walls and beneath the pulsing bassline, queer lives unfold in all their chaotic, unfiltered glory. The characters you’ll meet are exaggerated, playful, and unapologetic, but they’re also heartbreakingly real. They dance along the spectrum of joy and tragedy, love and loneliness, pride and pain, painting a kaleidoscope of the LGBTQIA+ experience.

Set on June 12, 2016, the day of the Pulse nightclub shooting, Flush serves as a glittering memorial. It’s a reminder that queer spaces—bathrooms, clubs, dance floors—aren’t just places. They’re lifelines. They’re where we find each other, celebrate each other, and protect each other. It’s a tribute to those who danced until the world wouldn’t let them anymore, to those whose love and laughter were cut short. But it’s also a battle cry for those of us who are still here.

This play is drenched in glitter, sweat, and soul. It’s a reminder that queer joy is an act of rebellion, that queer rage is holy, and that queer survival is the most radiant kind of victory. It’s messy because we’re messy. It’s loud because we refuse to be quiet. And it’s proud because we will never apologize for who we are.

As a queer, Black artist, I pour my heart into creating spaces where our voices can echo, where our truths can shimmer and shine, even through the darkest shadows. Flush is for the queens, the dreamers, the rebels, the romantics, the lost and the found. It’s for the ones who carry glitter in their pockets and heartbreak in their hearts, for the ones who keep dancing even when the music stops.

Thank you for stepping into this world with me. May it make you laugh, cry, think, and above all, feel alive. And may you leave this story with glitter in your soul.

—Juwon Tyrel Perry