It's 20 past the hour when I finally throw open the door to the restaurant we agreed to meet. He's easy to spot, his long, braided hair setting over his right shoulder; I see him through the window walking up, and glide past the hostess stand with a signal that implies 'I know where to... Continue Reading →
It’s 8:30pm on a Sunday when a call from an unknown number pierces my eardrum. Blocked Caller, it reads. What sneaky bastard did I ghost off Tinder? Something about the loneliness of a New York Sunday persuades me to answer. “Hello,” I say, putting on my Publicist coo. A surprised voice: “Lindsey?” Christ, I... Continue Reading →
Lindsey Hall Writes 