There was a mystery that was stalking the city, in the shadows, that started to surface my third year in the city. There was some sort of pneumonia that only attacked gay men. I just didn't get it. How did pneumonia know who was gay? It had something to do with the immune system, someone would try to explain… but I still couldn't figure out how gay men's immune systems were different than anyone else's.

It didn't take long before AIDS took over every topic we talked about at the coffee shop. Being in show business, you just know a lot of people who are gay. A conversation typically went like this:

Friend: Hey, you know so-and-so?
Me: Yeah.
Friend: He got the big A.
Me: How's he doing?
Friend: He died last week.

Address books turned into obituaries. Memorials replaced holidays. We didn't know all we do now. There weren't the drugs to make it seem like just another day in the park.

There was Jay, and Frank, and John, and Ben, and Benjamin, and Ernie… and I miss them.

There's nothing like Death to make you contemplate Life.