He shakes his head, swallowing hard against whatever’s in his throat. It’s irritating. He doesn’t get like this.
“It’s no one thing. Or maybe it was Stonewall. Maybe it was when someone threw a bottle at us and it almost hit him. I dunno.” He taps some ash onto the sidewalk, sucks on the clove again, sighs it out. “He’s always known who I was. He knows why it’s important for me to be this way. I just, it’s—we’ve been fighting. And it’s nothing we haven’t fought about before, but it’s different. It’s different now.”
He brushes some hair out of his face. “Did you know we’ve been together eleven years?”