Photograph: Gregory Kramer
We (my partner Gwen, me and our housemate Andy) have been doing a lot of "stoop hangs." Our lezzyish quar thrupple sits at the top of our stoop in Crown Heights and our primarily queer visitors sit at the bottom. Our thrupple made two Instagram Live concerts to raise money for SWOP and Brooklyn Community Bail Fund and lots of our queer buds showed up online with comments and venmo cash. The thrupple works out together every morning now and went on a weird cleanse after two months of heavy drinking and eating. When George Floyd was murdered, we made a bunch of signs and banners together, marched and protested every day, and we ran into a lot of queer friends (all masked and dripping in sanitizer). The queers I know and love show up. I had read The New York Times article on how to safely hug, so I occasionally took the risk and literally held my breath and stayed silent under the veil. My partner and I took a covid test and had to quarantine while we waited for results so we could visit our (on-the-verge-of-social-isolation-death) folks in various parts of Ohio. So when another friend, Desi, DJ-ed a dance party for a small group of lezzyish folk over zoom, it was a socially deprived quarantine highlight. Now we are in Cleveland doing puzzles again. It's the first time the queer thrupple has been separated in three months and now over text we are thinking about buying a 2008 volvo station wagon together. Over the quarantine, we have also considered getting a stripper pole, a top loading freezer, a baby and 75 acres of tick infested property upstate together. I did not know Andy very well before this all started. Our queer community has been three.