Four Short Crushes
by Paul Simms April 30, 2007 The New Yorker ================ Well, well, well. Just look at you, walking into this dreary bar and lighting the place up like the noonday sun at midnight, twirling a lock of your long auburn hair pensively as you search the room—for what? For a soul mate, perhaps? (I know, I know—I hate that phrase, too. [...]
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