Jeff B. Harmon At War

The neo-Nazi in Billy Murphy’s den launches into a rant about a homosexual conspiracy. I listen to his tirade, poker-faced, trying to cover the huge purple hickey on my neck with the collar of my tropical shirt. The hickey was bestowed on me last night by my tempestuous boyfriend Lorenzo.

I am leading a double life in El Salvador, chumming around with the homophopic right wing and military by day and cavorting in San Salvador’s gay underground at night.