When I was twenty-two, I became fast friends with Richmond, Virginia. More often than I should have, I would hop in my car and drive several hours to see someone I was barely dating there. With the benefit of hindsight, I now see that we were really only in the business of having unexceptional sex, eating below-average food, and sometimes engaging in dull conversations about life, none of which were better than mediocre. None of which made me feel the thing I was looking to feel. I doubt he even knew my last name. Nevertheless, he was nice enough and handsome enough, and I was searching to
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