“It’s A Match!” Hmm. I unlocked my phone and watched my own blue-eyed, brown-haired profile photo do a dance right alongside baseball-hat-inside man and a prompt to send a message. My timing was obviously impeccable; I was currently in a metal tube, about to be two thousand miles away for the next month, and this guy probably just caught a rideshare out of the airport. Frankie, 35—Guaranteed admittance to the Mile High Club.
