It feels strange to be in Provincetown, Massachusetts, after three decades. Everyone I used to know here is dead. The place, once known as a gay haven, feels like less and more of its old self: some parts seem like a gay theme park for straight tourists—complete with straight clubs that do drag shows—and other parts resemble L.G.B.T. retirement communities or are, in fact, L.G.B.T. “adult community” condominiums. Sometimes it feels as if Provincetown has become a mainstream tourist attraction because the gay men I knew died. This is inaccurate—it’s more likely a matter of real-estate prices, travel trends, and Airbnb. Still, there are a few places in this country that feel to me, all these years later, hollowed out by aids, and Provincetown is one of them.