As the train exits Manhattan and enters the Bronx, I make sure there’s space between us on our bench in the corner. Not so much space that we can be targeted individually, but not so close that we draw attention for being together. I hate talking shit about my home borough, because I love the Bronx, but I can’t pretend like we’ve got our act together, like being gay is going to fly with everyone. In Manhattan, it’s way less of a risk to lounge my leg across Valentino’s lap and rest my head on his shoulder and kiss him. Here, I’ve got to keep everything to myself. Our lives could depend on it.
