Priscilla & Elvis Herselvis, San Francisco, 1991. Photo by Phyllis Christopher.
AT AGE TWENTY, estranged from my family back in Boston, I ran away to the desert with Kym, my opinionated and authoritative girlfriend who, being like five years older, seemed to know how to live. Kym, like me, had recently gone gay with gusto. I would follow her anywhere: Provincetown, Tucson, back to Provincetown, then back to Tucson, where I flipped a coin to get away from her. Heads, San Francisco. Tails, a women’s separatist commune in the Sonoran desert called Adobeland.
Just before the coin . . .
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