“I run five miles a day.”

“That’s great for cardio and legs but it doesn’t do anything for your upper body.”

“I could lift weights until I was a quivering mass of jelly but I’d never look like you.”

He smiled. “You don’t have to be a muscle head to be fit.”

“How did you get started bodybuilding?”

He laughed. “I’m not a bodybuilder, that’s a full-time job and I’ve already got one, in case you hadn’t noticed. I lift for fun. I started in high school and took to it right away. I liked the workouts, liked the pump, liked the way I looked. Plus, people don’t expect a Chinese guy to be built like the Hulk. It makes them nervous.”

“I bet.”

“Yeah, I flex my biceps and put on my mean face and they don’t ask stupid questions like, where were you born or say stuff like, you speak really good English. And I don’t have to tell them I was born at St. Mary’s on Stanyan Street and I speak good English because I’m a fucking American.” He smiled. “White devils. You get that too?”

“One of my first clients took one look at me and said he wanted a real lawyer, not some wetback,” I said. “Ironically, he was a black guy.”

“What happened?”

“We worked it out, but there have been other clients who plain refused to let me represent them.” I speared some meat and vegetable with my fork. “Where do you lift?”

“A buddy owns a gym south of Market. Nothing fancy. Basically, a warehouse with weights and a bunch of muscle heads grunting and calling each other ‘fag.’”

I froze and something shattered inside of me. I forced myself to swallow the food in my mouth. Heart pounding, I lifted my head, met his eyes, and said, as calmly as I could, “I’m gay, Adam, and I prefer you not use that word around me.”

I braced myself for his response.

He flushed dark red and sputtered, “Oh, fuck! Oh, fuck! I’m so sorry.”

I relaxed a fraction.

“You must think I’m an asshole,” he continued. “I swear I didn’t mean anything by it. I was just talking shit.”

“You want to be careful who you talk shit to,” I said. “In this city, at this moment.”

We stared at each other, a gulf between us where none had been before.

“Man, I feel so bad.” His distress seemed genuine. “What can I say?”

I was torn being wanted to console him and wanting to get away from him as quickly as I could. The latter impulse won out.

“I’ve had a tough morning. You mind bringing the check? I have to get going.”

“You haven’t touched your food.”

“I’ll take it with me.”