Sean prepared for work one morning.

"Are you still thinking about your friend?" Chet said softly over the breakfast table. Sean gave a slight nod. "If there's anything I can do..."

Sean shrugged, then thanked him. That was Chet. Succinct and polite.

On the subway, Sean glimpsed a couple of articles about Mayor Dinkins. The coalition was angry with him, lately, even though many members supported him during his campaign. There were AIDS commission people in town, that week (federal spokespersons), touring sites that were relevant to the crisis. One was a men's shelter that Dinkins said he wanted to put homeless PWAs in. The news had enraged most of the AIDS community, in fact, who felt PWAs deserved more appropriate dwellings than shelters; (shelters could be dangerous to their health).

Sean got off the subway, climbed up the stairs, passed through the turnstile and went the rest of the way to the street. The day was so cold, the blood of the city seemed to be retreating from its surfaces. The cement and glass were contracted, like frozen water. Frosty breaths puffed out of bluish lips. Though the sun was irritatingly bright, it gave no warmth. It was like ice-cold needles in the eye.

"I'm a half hour early," Sean thought. He killed some time by strolling about the area. The cold was torture, but the pain made him feel a little less depressed. Near the big statue of the bull, across from the U.S. Post Office, the breezes were so cold, people were turning their gaze inward, not seeing each other.

A gloved hand grabbed Sean's elbow.

"Hello, beautiful," said a voice.

Sean looked up and saw the scarved and capped face of Chet's lawyer friend, the guy who put such a move on him at MoMA while being so verbose on the Saint Pat's event.

"What brings you to this area?" said Sean. "Oh, that's right. Your office is located here... How are you and Dale doing?"

"Fine, fine," the lawyer said. "Except that we've been so busy, we hardly see each other." The two men squinted into the powerful, freezing rays of the sun.

"You seem preoccupied," the man said. "Cooking up more activist trouble? You guys are going after Dinkins, now, I see."

Sean laughed, "Why shouldn't we? He's betrayed us! The man said in writing that he didn't believe in putting homeless PWAs in shelters, and now that he's mayor, that's exactly what he wants to do."

(The coalition had already had a run-in with the Mayor that year over his choice for health commissioner.)

The lawyer chuckled and said, "And what about the Saint Pat's thing. You're not one of those guys going to trial, are you?"

"No," said Sean. "But I think a political trial will be interesting."

The man laughed, "Don't count on it. I think those in control are going to keep it as unimpassioned as possible."

"But that's not fair."

"The city is going to look like it's being tough on the defendants, and that'll be that."

"Will they be tough on the defendants?"

"No."

Sean seemed frustrated by that, perversely enough. The lawyer just laughed. Then, the man seemed troubled.

"Sean," he said, looking down at the younger man. "Are you aware that your lover and my lover are having an affair?"

Sean stared at the man in disbelief. He almost wanted to laugh. Then, he realized from the gravity of the man's facial expression that his words were true.

Before he could say anything in response, Sean bolted. Like an angry animal. Like an animal choosing flight over fight.

He had no idea how he'd confront Chet over the matter. He didn't even know how he'd get through the day, with such an explosive problem left unresolved, waiting to blow.