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

“Downloads are invisible,” I explain. “Or they’re in file-shared pieces until someone requests it. Some things need to be discovered! I don’t like Kindle. How do you fall in love with a novel that has no glossy dustcover? Will you take it fondly from the bookcase one sleepless night to rediscover? I wantto dog ear, I want to drop it accidentally into the bathtub. Same with albums. I like that they don’t fit so great on a shelf, I like the art, the liner notes. Our customers are collectors and always will be. They can’tlive on a cloud. They want to handle their shit.”


“We should just rename the store Handle Your Shit?” Artie asks.


I don’t tell them I intend to start my own blog about crazed theatrical collecting. I’m going to call it Hoardway. At last I will be able to openly discuss my limited edition Valjean and Javert salt and pepper shakers.


Chapter 109