Bricks, Blood, and Boys Like Me
Sometimes, after watching boys holding boys, shame twisted my gut.
July 28, 1969 I leaned against the brick in the alley, smoking my cigarette. Man, I needed a break. Don’t get me wrong, I’d sought out the Stonewall Inn for a bartending gig. It was the only place in town where I could breathe without fear that someone would notice I was doing it differently. But sometimes, after watching boys holding boys, shame twisted my gut. Don’t get me wrong, my shame wasn’t about who I was, but abo...
