The mid-40s are that time in a gay man's life when his major paradigm shifts from sexy to Sansabelts. But when Barry Grooms's partner of twenty years is killed on Barry's forty-fifth birthday, his world doesn't so much evolve as it does explode.<br><br>After navigating through the surreal conveyor belt of friends and family, he can't eat another casserole or swallow much more advice on what constitutes grief. Still numb, he leaves his homestore and design business in the care of others as he escapes to Key West, then New York. There he gets a thankless new job working for a crazy lady in a poncho, then has too many drinks with a narcissistic Broadway actor. Next it's a nude exercise class that redefines flop sweat, and from there he's on to a relationship with a man twenty years his junior.<br><br>Yet no matter how great the retreat from the man he used to be, life's gravity spins Barry back to the small town where he grew up for one more ironic twist that teaches him how to say goodbye with grace.

The Cool Part of His Pillow

“Change is inevitable. It can even sometimes be constructive.”


“A guy I know working on an anecdotal documentary has some phenomenal footage of what’s been lost. He has Woody-fucking-Allen on camera call it ‘the progression of opulence.’”


“And Woody-fucking-Allen solemnly pontificates this from Central Park West,” I say. “Everyone has a different Manhattan. His is all-Gershwin with a Windsor Light Condensed font. Documentarians have agendas.”


Jarod picks up a loaded potato skin. “And look at Harlem, its whole ‘Renaissance.’” He brackets the air. “Nothing but a bunch of new brewpubs. The darker the beer, the whiter the resident.”


Sasha motions to Jarod, who excuses himself, swinging his knapsack over his shoulder.


Chapter 78