This morning, at the local coffee bar, an acquaintance of mine asked me in a subdued voice whether I knew that Tchaikovsky was gay. I confessed unashamedly that I did not.
On the way back, I thought a great deal about the matter. By the time I put the key to my front door, I was already feeling quite relaxed about the whole thing.
Why should it concern me? I never turn my back on his music...
