San Francisco and I get along better now than when we first met in 1985. Then, I was visiting my boyfriend who had just graduated from Boston University. He found himself jobless and penniless in Boston, so retreated here to live with his mother in an uncomfortable silence.

Then, it was pretty clear that with me living in Boston and him living in SF, after this trip we’d probably never see each other again. We didn’t. He cinched that by playing a cassette tape of “Don’t You Forget About Me” every time we got in his car. Sean was a good man, but I do not react well to needy.

Then, the AIDS epidemic was in its early stages, with San Fran leading the way in diagnoses, community reaction, enlightenment, fear and loathing. At the time, I knew no one HIV positive — indeed “HIV” had not yet entered the lexicon. Continue reading 25. Brave New San Fran →