Doug was my role model the whole time I worked at the sex club, right up to the time he stole his boyfriend’s money and car, and disappeared. I still wish him well. I hope he never gets caught. I hope his life in the next place is better than it ever was here.
We worked together, Doug and I. I was maintenance, went around all night with a spray bottle and a rag, wiping come off the floor. Doug was the doorman. All night men came in off of Colfax, shame-faced mostly, impatient, breathless, already regretful. They carried a grudge against the hunger that had brought them to this place, again. Doug always smiled, and he spoke to everyone gently. Even the way he passed strangers their change was tender. He absolved everyone twice, once when he buzzed the door to let us in and again when he buzzed and let us out again.
Doug wasn’t young anymore, he had AIDS, but he still looked like a kid, a very pale sad-eyed kid, and just the way he said ‘Hello’ and ‘Good night’ made you feel like no matter what you did, no matter what your sheets looked like when you were done, Doug would always root for you, would always argue that, no matter what, the future you deserved was a good one.
Tags:bathhouses,gay,compassion
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