When I lived in northern New Jersey in my youth, I’d go into the City (that’s New York City, generally Manhattan, for anyone who has never lived in that metropolitan area) often for grad school classes or to see friends. The train schedules and bus schedules were made more for daytime commuters than nighttime revelers (or students), so I’d drive my little red Mazda Miata and find parking on the street in the West Village. I only got towed once, and I was never late to class because of parking, so I was pretty lucky.
One buzzy Friday night I got dolled up and went into town to visit Theo, a guy I’d been seeing for a few weeks. We had gone to the same high school but didn’t know each other until we were both living in/around NYC. He was a grad student in philosophy (you’re right, that should have been a red flag) and he was also very emotionally volatile which, well, I was too. I have always had this insufferable fantasy about falling in love with a “hometown boy” that I had everything in common with but had gotten out to see the world like me, so he scratched some funny itch. He was also tall with broad shoulders and nice eyes, which helped.
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