I need to go home (we need to go home). I miss my City. She’s the most beautiful place I’ve ever seen—and I’ve seen the best the world has to offer.
I miss being among folks who don’t regard me as some aberration. I miss being among folks whom I don’t regard as vile.
Here—in exiled place—I practically kiss every gay man and lesbian I see, I follow folks—who display Democratic bumper-stickers on their modest cars—around shopping centers, I make conversation with young punks.
Here, it’s painful to be me.
Home. We are the Atlanteans.