It had been forty-eight hours since Kit and I first laid eyes on each other at New York’s Webster Hall, the site of the Gay Sports Ball, an annual event that was a mashup of my favorite things: gay athletes and gay music, and, if I was lucky, gay tonsil hockey. My BFF and wingman Matt Eriksson was my plus one, and it would be our first social outing since the events of 9/11 exactly two months earlier.
