On my days off, I took the train to Toronto to see Corey. We had a place together in the Gay Village, a sixth-floor boxy apartment with little light in a 1960s high-rise. It had no furniture. We would sleep on the floor together, our possessions limited to two little candle holders with cut-outs in them that cast stars on the ceiling as we lay together in sleeping bags. We also had a goblet with grasshoppers carved into it, given to me by the legendary actor Bill Needles, who had told me he thought Corey was “adorable.” He told me that he had had this grasshopper glass in every house he had lived in as an adult and it had brought him good luck. “It’s time to pass it along to someone who needs it,” he had said.