We used to leave our keys with the Pink Teacup, just under the Coconut Cream Pie, in case friends needed to get in. You could also call from a payphone and we would lower the keys down on a string. This was 42 Grove Street and we had all moved there in 1992—fags and dykes and in-betweeners—and there were four of us in a two-level apartment with a spiral staircase and mice. We came with our ACT-UP t-shirts and Doc Martens and we sneered at Gay Pride, though we marched in it. We wanted to be part of gay history. More…
Leaving Our Keys at the Pink Teacup by
