I know the reality of antigay violence personally, because a 30-year-old shirt reminds me. Hanging toward the back of my closet is a perfectly standard blue Oxford cloth button-down shirt, of the most classic boxy cut. That was my blood, gushing from my face in October 1992 as a group of angry London teens broke my nose, knocked me unconscious, and kicked me in the face. I don’t really know why I’ve kept the shirt since 1992. If you don’t believe that, I have a shirt I’d like you to see.

Source: Huffington Post March 16, 2019 15:00 UTC