Ex-Jesus freak turned gay stud, you still quoted from Job when, roughed up and rolled, you begged for quick healing; not that you believed a word you prayed, nor did I, both apostates, both teenaged outcasts, and I was hardly surprised when one night, bruises faded, you fled Texas without a note. Driving through Wisconsin, three a.m., you stopped to photograph a town, you wrote, was calm and white as a child’s Bethlehem. You mailed the print to me, but … Read on…