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 knees, and he gave me my first (and last?) cinematic kiss, a kiss that a homeless person interrupted to hand us a map of San Francisco, a memento.