A cold rain pounded the windows of a New York City precinct on August 26, 1990. A disgruntled, sleepy, rain-soaked cop shoved a young guy into a cell. When he stood up in the moonlight, one could see that he was dressed in a bright pink tank top with rhinestones, short pink shorts, soft pink stockings, and additional layers of clothing in all shades of pink. There were bows on his head, his clothes, his shoes - everywhere.

As he left, the irritated cop said: "You wait until the night, maybe you'll stop acting up with your damn friends". The guard left, leaving the young man alone. He sat down on the floor tiredly, covering his head with his hands, trying to understand what was going on around him. The alcohol was having a strong effect on him. He had been having a really fun time at the club that night, but then something went wrong and the police were called. Just what, he couldn't remember.

After a couple of seconds of looking at everything, a figure of a cold and tall man stepped out of the shadows. His steps were cautious, but somehow rough. Even before he saw the man he hadn't noticed before, a wave of cold fear and hostility swept through him. A voice, slightly hoarse from prolonged cigarette smoking, muttered, as if mocking the guy: "Well, have you had enough fun, faggot?"

The smell of cigarette smoke and mildew filled the air as the tall man's silhouette became clearer in the dim light. His eyes gleamed with contempt as he stared at the pink-clad figure on the floor, making no attempt to hide his disgust.