“It was a dark room above a restaurant in Soho. The floorboards slanted and buckled with age and the air smelled like wet dog. The other people in the room included a young, pretty woman working behind the bar. Two eighty-ish men who were shouting things at each other about plays. A wet dog. It was a miniature Italian greyhound. It rubbed up against my leg.”
—
The Places You’ll Go - The Morning News
I wrote an essay and The Morning News was kind enough to publish it today. It’s about romance, and the opposite of romance.
