After our single drink, my friend and I went home. Amid their tart exchanges, I saw Cupid again, now wingless, wearing beat-up Sperrys and skinny jeans. The conversation grew intimate, and I began to recount my ex-boyfriend woes. She had a habit, he said, of pushing him out to sea and then reeling him in when she felt lonely. I followed the horizon back to my apartment and slid into bed as the sun came up.

Source: New York Times March 22, 2019 03:56 UTC