I remember all those beautiful masculine faces that grace the walls of my memory. Next year I will cross the half-century mark, and my mind wanders back through all those winding corridors of years in San Francisco, New Orleans, Key West, and New York. Good friends, work that I love and am passionate about, and-not the least-I am alive. As the noon sun is peaking just overhead now, my heart is full of gratitude, for I've been so lucky in life. I'm sitting on the patio in front of the weather-worn, shingle-clad cottage that my good friend, Randy, has rented for the summer in Provincetown, Massachusetts, where every summer evening he gives an entertainingly realistic performance as Cher to eager sun-drenched and alcohol-infused crowds.
It's now late August and another summer is quickly slipping away.
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