I can see her mourning the end of the whole night she’d envisioned: she’d ask me if I wanted to grab a drink or a coffee sometime during the week, to talk about the lecture, because she’s new to the city, because her program sucks, because she’s just been through a breakup, because things were supposed to be one way and they’re another, because she has a shelf of Moleskines waiting to be filled the way she’s seen other, better writers on Instagram and Twitter post pictures of their shelves of Moleskines full up with their brilliance, because she can’t keep going to these kinds of things and
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