The group of gay New Yorkers I was hanging out with in September 1993 decided to visit a relatively remote beach we’d heard about on the other side of Mykonos. To get there, we each rented a motorbike and traveled the narrow paved roads of the island. The beach was a (half mile?) long ribbon situated in a gentle bay with no real civilization nearby. Aside from its beautiful seaside location, it was known for the taverna that sat above the beach and served the juiciest pork chops I had had in a long time. The beach’s name was Agios Sostis beach, named after the small Greek Orthodox cathedral situated there. I can’t recall this guy’s name, but, when I suggested he stand by himself with the water behind him, I pictured a barren landscape on some distant planet.