A couple of evenings ago, I met my friend, Mitra, for dinner. It was a gorgeous night to be sitting outside in Central Square, warm and breezy. I drank a cocktail out of a grapefruit, she drank sangria out of a glass. We ate a series of small plates, as people do these days.
A friend of hers, Dazza, walked by. Twice. The first time she didn’t realize it…
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