I see two men on a bed. The first lies feebly, his feet in socks few would wear outside their home. The dapper second man sits donned in a suit, perhaps on his way to Wall Street or a friend’s wedding. Yet, he is neither.

I cannot identify the sickly man. He has no identifying personal items; to me, he has no name. The trim second man is a volunteer who attends to AIDS patients, and perhaps he too does not know the dying man’s name. It is possible the two are soulmates just as it is possible they’d never met before. But to Mr. Suit&Tie, the man is not contagious nor psychotic nor gay; he is just a person who needs support. In the world of severe stigma, the second man sees the first just as a person, and for him, that is enough.