I want to say his name was Darryl, but I’m not really sure. He was the guy that I met in Toronto after I got home from Dad’s funeral. He was a skinhead. He looked the part in no uncertain terms. He had a great Mohawk and wore Doc Martins up to his knees all dressed in black. He was hot.
Darryl really liked me for some reason. We met on a telephone dating service. It was kind of wild that we should meet that way, but we did. He enjoyed sex, as did I, so we made a great couple for the weekend that we were together. He took me out to my first rave, and introduced me to the world of pills and Special K.
I remember him because he was so kind to me at a time when I really needed someone in Toronto to be really kind to me. I had just got home from Halifax, the funeral, the fucking eulogy. I was a mess, and I think Darryl knew it. He treated me well. I am thankful.