June 3, 2016

Pure Pleasure

Sometime last year I was driving out Route 50 in the direction of the Blue Ridge as my then-fiancée, riding shotgun, fiddled with the Redfin app on her phone. She was investigating the prices of houses in the area, properties we were idly dreaming about buying one day after I chuck in journalism for something more lucrative and socially acceptable, like high-class art theft, or running guns.

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