When Katie Met Cassidy

by Camille Perri

Cassidy understood how it wasn’t simply pink, as she’d suspected; it was in fact the exact hue of a crystallized gemstone transmitting a pale pink light.

She lived for the agony of doomed erotic collision, for self-sabotage, for I know this is going to hurt but I’m going to do it anyway, in fact that’s why I’m going to do it.

It was more just what people did when they happened upon their home en route to someplace else—and that’s basically what the Met was to Cassidy, a second home.