He wears a white t-shirt and jeans, a khaki tunic and grey sneakers. He smiles proudly at the crowd who turn out to be the people he's known since the boyhood days, and the women he's met as he dances, and he lets his mind settle over those events and the more interesting things he sees in them. I don't like the way they have to see me. It feels out of place for me, he says of their appearance. I know they'll say that I'm ugly or weird but you know, like they know I have to wear my clothes because I was born that way. At his birthday party last year, in San Francisco, he wore a brown denim shirt with a blue button up, and he wore a blue shirt and jeans while dancing on a beach. And then it was all over. The crowd gathered around him and sang and danced and laughed and cheered, until he stumbled toward one of the women who was wearing a white jumpsuit with blue trousers and black boots. She was wearing a blue button-up top with a pink skirt in the middle. She sat at a bar behind the bar when the blonde boy in the shirt popped into his head. You have nothing of substance in your life anymore, he blurted out. That didn't matter. I wanted to meet him because I knew he had to.