Continuing with dredging up men from my diary:

27 Dec 97
Working at the Eagle is an eye opener. What an odd mentality the leather community is.

Rob comes into the bar and we went out onto the patio where he proceeded to do K. The bar was empty and I was working and here it was a Tuesday night and he was putting that crap into his body. I didnt know what to do or say. I did nothing and vowed not to continue our friendship. I hate the guys he’s hanging around with – pretentious circuit party queens. I am mostly upset because I always thought Rob was a stronger man.

Rob was a ex-gymnast, aerobics instructor I met when I was working as a catering/restaurant manager who’s kitchen was located in a health club. He use to sit at my bar and made me make weird smoothie concoctions and dare each other to drink them (“now put cayenne pepper in it!”). He was the strongest A-type personality I have ever known who spiraled down into this guy who would do K on a dead Tuesday night. I think he was primarily bored with life after doing so much in his youth: competed in the Olympics, bought and sold trendy 60s antiques in a prosperous Toronto market, owned a loft conversion years before they were popular, personal trained some of the hottest men at the best health clubs. I think I wandered into his life just as he started to get a bit reckless with his partying. I was very attracted to him, but who wasnt? I was the ramora fish beside the sleek sexy shark when we went out. One time, while playing pool at Pegasus, Rob was approached by a photographer to pose for a gay men’s chat line ad. I stood there feeling like crusty pate left out on the counter, the day after some disasterous summer party.

I was the small dog asking the big bulldog “What are we going to do today, Spike?” and I didnt mind a bit. It was attention by association.

Oct 4 96
Rob got shot last night. We were walking down Jarvis after leaving the gym and making jokes about shooting Cocaine Andrew (only to wound, so it could heal and we could shoot him again) when *POP* and Rob crumples to the ground. Some asshole kids with a C0² gun got Rob in the ribs. He was wearing that neoprene one piece he tools around in all the time and that stopped the pellet from entering his skin but it tore the Nike shirt he had on *under* the neoprene. We spent some time at Wellesley General and met up with one other victim of the same drive by kids and talked to some cops. Rob bottled up his emotions well until the next day when he went into a rage directed at all “kids”. All I could think of was “It could have been me!”

The last I saw of Rob was outside his half mil house in Cabbagetown that he bought with his boyfriend. He was outside doing yard work with very little on. “Disturbs the lesbians next door,” he offered. He had that way of getting under your skin.