Thanks, Fred Shirley! This chapter resonates with me a lot, even though I’m not a painter like David. I drew much of the scene with Allen from my own experiences, including the bit where I wished somebody would do something about the open eyes of a guy who had just passed away in his own bed.

I wasn’t an artist, though, in those days. I had stopped writing. I guess I was storing up memory for another day.

I didn’t share David’s drive then to make sense of things through art. I choose a path of activism.

Today, though, art compels me more.

Written by

Writer. Runner. Marine. Airman. Former LGBTQ and HIV activist. Former ActUpNY and Queer Nation. Polyglot. Middle-aged, uppity faggot. jamesfinnwrites@gmail.com

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