Mike was a junkie and a street hustler. I met him only once, in his room, after Rick Levine.
The local free clinic doctor, examined him. He was thin and getting thinner, sick & getting sicker.
Rick suggested Mike move to a hospice.

   "How could I do that? I'd have to come here everyday for my drugs. I love the Ambassador. I want to die here."

I've always thought of Mike as my poster boy, not only for the way that he looked at me but for what he gave me & for my own emotional response. He was so close to death and knew something about dying and AIDS that he wanted others to know, that no one not in that condition and threshold in life could possibly know. In those few moments we spent together, he gave me all the feeling and understanding he had left. Ten days later, he died in a hospital.