Trump & Love in the Time of AIDS
It would take Trump and two elections to see two of my exes for who they really were
I have thought of writing this for some time now, the way you mean to clean out a junk drawer, aware of it every morning when you dig through it looking for something ordinary and out of place, like a safety pin or a battery; deciding to dig through it and look for what matters; circling the task in the mind and then, inevitably, setting it aside.
Even the junk has meaning, or is it just complications? Personal history implicates other people’s privacy, or maybe in this case, their junk. I have always wanted to believe in privacy, the way I believe in rinsing a coffee pot when it’s drained. An unexamined ethos or maybe just a habit. Now at times I think my routine skates on the thin ice of irresponsibility, one that dims a warning. All in the name of an artificial game called fairness.
