A Black Man Ran to Gay Enclaves to Feel Safe. But Was He Welcome?
Just days after the pandemic made landfall in New York City in the spring of 2020 — and right as the city streets became ghostly reminders of what was — I began to run every morning.
I’d run down the West Side Highway as the sun slowly crawled across Manhattan from the East River. I’d run through the empty avenues that dice up the West Village, passing bars and restaurants I used to get too drunk in.
And I’d run, and then I’d run some more. Once it became apparent that the pandemic was not ending anytime soon, I decided to get in my car and run away even farther to communities that I had grown to love and where I thought I would feel safer.
Before the pandemic hit, I had become one of those gays who spent his summers or special holidays at one of the various famous gay towns that were popularized in the 1960s.
