The particular stretch of street I’m thinking about was very popular with trans sex workers of color back in the day.

There would normally be a group of people hanging out there, but not always. Sometimes the cops chased them away, and I guess sometimes they just had other things to do.

I don’t have any way of knowing if they were there or not the night Brad walked home with Greg. I use their hypothetical absence as a plot device to help us get into his head.

But also as commentary on the fact that the most vulnerable of us could disappear with barely a ripple on the surface of the pond.

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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