WARNING: Those who don’t remember my past are doomed to repeat it. It is night. The light from the fire lights his face is the most flattering way, and he knows it. He sits on a log, several young Queers gathered around him. They hang onto his every word, as he tells them a story. It is a story about mustaches and Gay bars and the Sears Men’s Underwear Catalog and losing your V to a trucker and chasing Gay bashers in six-inch heels dressed as a drag bunny and a virus and watching your friends die and ACT UP and dental dams and using words such as “lover” and “beard” and when...