The week's work over, gay buddy Mike and I found ourselves in a seedy San Jose bar, discussing what we were going to do with our free time. I was going to try to get an early flight home, I said. How about you?
"I'm going to head up to the Castro district, see some friends," he said. I stared at my friend, the stereotype. Words failed me.
"WHAT?" he said defensively. "I don't say anything when you tailgate at football games in Pittsburgh."
Touche!