Waldo lived in a three-story brick tenement in a garbage strewn alley street off Polk. He unlocked first an iron gate and then a glass door to let them into a tiny foyer with a dirty black-and-white checkerboard floor. On one wall were mailbox slots and on the others were signs warning the residents against this or that violation of building rules: No Pets! Lock all doors! No drugs on the premises! The air reeked of mildew and stale food smells. A doorway opened from the foyer to a long, dark hall. “This way,” Waldo said, plunging into the darkness. “Watch your step, the fucking light’s been out forever.” He led Bill to a door with a crudely painted “9” on it, fumbled with his keys in the darkness, unlocked the door and then stepped aside to let Bill pass.

“This is home, Bill,” Waldo said, flicking on an overhead light.

Streetlight drizzled into the room through a pair of dust-streaked windows. In an alcove half-concealed by a curtain was an unmade bed. He glimpsed a toilet in a tiny bathroom off the short entrance hall. A couch covered with a pink chenille bedspread, a little vinyl-topped kitchen table with two chairs, a scattering of orange crates stuffed with books and albums and an old hi-fi completed the décor of the main room which was no bigger than Bill’s Eden Plains bedroom. Cockroaches scampered across the counter of the galley kitchen at their approach. The sink was crammed with dirty pots, dishes, cups and glasses. The air smelled of perfume and garbage.

“Are you hungry?” Waldo asked.

“Yeah.”

“Sit down, I made some chicken dumpling soup. I’ll grab you a bowl.”

The soup, served in a chipped bowl, was the best thing Bill had eaten since before he’d gone to the hospital. The broth was rich and the dumplings fluffy. Waldo watched him eat, a glass of wine in front of him.

“So, where you from?”

“Illinois. A little town.”

“I’m from Nebraska myself,” Waldo said, conversationally. “Bet my town was littler. So, Pete said you had to leave cuz the folks figured out you were gay.”

Bill mumbled an embarrassed, “Yeah.”

“Honey, you’re not the first. This city is filled with boys like you and me.”

Bill lifted his eyes from the bowl. “You too?”

Waldo nodded. “Yeah, me too. My sophomore year, bunch of boys got me behind the bleachers, made me suck their dicks and then beat the shit out of me.” He grinned. “Well, I didn’t mind sucking the dicks but I didn’t like how they rearranged my pretty face. When I told my folks what happened, they said it was my fault for being a faggot and threw me out.” He studied Bill. “You’re not a queen, like me. How did your folks find out?”

“My dad caught me with my friend.”

Waldo asked, drolly, “Was your dick in his mouth or his in yours?”