When he punched me in the face I didn’t think “hate crime,” — I thought, “Why the fuck did he do that?” Hate crime wasn’t something I heard much about in 1990, so it never occurred to me that I may have been a victim of it.
I park my car a block from Spike, an old West Hollywood haunt, a seedy after-hours bar catering to an alternative gay crowd — one of my favorites.
