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One spring evening, I met an actor at a one-­man show—he was the one man. After his show, this non-­gay actor living in San Francisco and I went to a bar together, and then once we were blitzed with fernet, we left the bar together. Outside, he pressed me against a wall, fitted his knees between my…

At the second publishing house I worked with commas. Nine hours of the day, every business day, I added and removed commas. I was alive one out of every four seconds. I could not believe that this was what people did all day, that “having a career” is people signing emails Cheers. I needed someone …

The Volunteer Coordinator at My Internship

Through my stepbrother’s wife’s brother’s now-­ ex-­girlfriend, I scored an internship at a tutoring center, where my primary responsibilities were taking out the trash and improving youth literacy.

In any new place—to make that place worth going t…

The months ticked by. I hired more people, built more features, and grew the business. My peers were all white men: other YC founders building consumer-­tech startups within a few blocks of ours. I took advice from some of them. I made friends with some of them. I dated some of them.

My social l…

Inside the club, there is a loud crowd full of day drinkers and early concert goers. We’re here to see Film School, the top of the heap in SF shoegaze cool, and Track Star, an SF indie/post-­punk, angsty three piece that trades off vocals and sweats heavily into their instruments. I see Peter in th…