On May 26, 1989, Katherine and I went to a party hosted by an old, old friend of mine from the French school whom I'd run into at San Francisco State where I was a graduate student in Russian Language and Literature. Nicholas lived on Fulton, directly across from the Jefferson Airplane house, in a flat shared with other students. I picked Katherine up after dropping off The Kid, then 1 ½, at my parents' in the Castro. I had on a favorite black vintage dress with lace trim at the collar and hips and black Sacha London cowboy booties (still have them).
I was 26.