At one point I was fairly sure that one of my highschool friends had been murdered in a spree killing targeting cross dressing prostitutes. They didn’t exactly have a common name, and there was a brief story the victim’s life where all the details matched up until the point I lost contact with them.
Then about five years later I ran into them at a concert, which was surreal. I had a brief moment where I almost said, “Wow, I thought you had been murdered by a homophobe while working as a cross-dressed prostitute,” but I elected not to.
