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Values.”
    “Damn, that pisses me off!”
    He chuckled. “So to speak.”
    “Well, dammit, that was a sweet scene. You can’t even tell what’s happening now. It’s not funny anymore.”
    “You’re right,” said Michael.
    “Fuckin’ Reagan.”
    “Well…he’s almost gone.”
    “Yeah, and his asshole buddy will be running things.”
    “Maybe not.”
    “You watch. Things are gonna get worse before they get better.”
    Thack gestured toward the TV. “You wanna watch this?”
    “Nah.”
    “Where’s the clicker?”
    Michael ran his hand between the corduroy cushions until he found the remote control, one of three at their command. (He had no idea what the other ones did.) Poking it, he watched the screen crackle into black, then turned over and laid his head against Thack’s chest. He sighed at the fit they made, the sheer inevitability of this moment in their day.
    Thack stroked Michael’s hair and said: “I picked up more vacuum cleaner bags.”
    “Good.” He patted Thack’s leg.
    “I’m not sure they’re the right ones. I got confused about our model.”
    “Fuck it.”
    Thack chuckled. “You know what I’ve been thinking?”
    “What?”
    “We should just go to an ACT-UP meeting. I mean, just stop by to see what it’s like.”
    Somehow, Michael had been expecting this. Thack’s advocacy had been bubbling like a broth all week, close to over-flowing. If it hadn’t taken this form, it would have almost certainly taken another. An irate letter to the Chronicle, maybe, or a shouting match with a Muni driver.
    When Michael didn’t react, Thack added: “Don’t you feel like kicking some butt?”
    He tried to keep it light. “Can’t we just hug it for a while?”
    Thack was not amused. “I have to do something,” he said.
    “About what?”
    “Everything. AZT, for one thing. How much do we pay for that shit? And Jesse Fucking Helms is gonna fix it so poor people can’t even get it. And you know what those sorry bastards think? Serves ’em right, anyway. Shouldn’t’ve been butt-fucking in the first place.”
    “I know,” said Michael, patting Thack’s leg.
    “I can’t believe how cold-blooded people have gotten.”
    Michael agreed with him, but he found his lover’s anger exhausting. Now, more than ever, he needed time for the other emotions as well. So what if the world was fucked? There were ways to get around that, if you didn’t make yourself a total slave to rage.
    “Thack…”
    “What?”
    “Well…I don’t understand why you’re mad all the time.”
    His lover paused, then pecked Michael on the temple. “I don’t understand why you’re not.”
    Harry heard the kiss and scrambled frantically over their intertwined legs, whimpering like a spurned lover. “Uh-oh,” said Thack. “Kiss Patrol.”
    They parted enough to admit the dog, then scratched him in tandem, Thack attacking the lower back, Michael attending to his head. Harry invariably left the room when they were having sex, but simple affection was too much for him to miss.
    “This jealousy isn’t healthy,” said Michael.
    “He’s all right.” Thack kissed the dog’s neck. “Aren’t you?”
    Harry gave a breathy har-har in reply.
    “He smells gross,” said Michael.
    “Is that right, Harry? Do you smell gross?”
    “I’ll wash him tomorrow.”
    Thack leaned closer to the dog’s ear. “Hear that, Harry? Better head for the hills.”
    Soon enough, Harry did retire to the bedroom, leaving his masters to snooze on the sofa. Michael drifted off to a rising chorus of foghorns and the occasional screech of tires down in the Castro. At eleven o’clock he was jolted awake by his beeper, prickly as a needle in the darkness.

A Practicing New Yorker
    F OR SEVERAL YEARS NOW THE TENDERLOIN HAD BEEN on a surprising upswing. Where formerly had been wino dives and inflatable plastic lady shops now bloomed chocolatiers and restaurants with arugula on the menu. Easily the most stylish of the new eateries was