In the interest of privacy and maintaining the anonymity of an otherwise “innocent party,” I will try to paint in broad brushstrokes here, but if you spend anytime walking, driving, or otherwise “cruising” the streets and byways of the Gayborhood, you may have had occasion to encounter a fairly regular sight, that of an attractive (a word that barely does justice to the subject, if truth be told) twenty-something, usually bare-chested and standing on the corner of one of the sleepier residential side-streets that feed the Drive.

I also remember the young man from my days socializing in downtown Fort Lauderdale and seeing him with women going into various clubs that I managed at the time (including Dicey Riley’s, with the late Richard Cimoch). This putatively straight kid, who spends more time at the gym than I have allotted hours for “Walking Dead,” which is no small feat—can often be seen pacing back and forth down his street, speaking on his cellphone, shirtless and deep in conversation.

I have had occasion to see him—actually a lot of occasions—because my paths to and from work often cross those of his home turf, and I therefore have just as many occasions to bear witness to the behaviors of other members of our tribe who happen upon him while he is “peacocking”—displaying himself, strutting—unsuspecting and without the benefit of inoculation that prolonged exposure to the sight of him has bestowed upon me.

I have listened to friends speculate upon the nature and reason for this guy’s posturings. These friends are convinced that he is gay for pay, and at least one “well-informed” local confirms this.

Many of these once-unwary passers-by first encountered him when they turn down his street and—BAM!— glimpsed him texting, or posting to Instagram, or—sometimes—facing the sky, his eyes closed.

What happens next could be the subject of a sociology—or is it anthropology?—paper. I have seen cars literally stop mid-street, bicyclists risk permanent maiming and brain injury when they nearly collide, and pedestrians “stutter-step” into moving traffic because they mischanced to glance his way.

Don’t get me wrong: the guy is handsome (okay, hot), but I’m not going to get killed by a passing Schwinn just to sneak a gander. It wouldn’t be dignified.