“All I want is a sweet, smart, artsy boy,” I sighed to my friend, a tall Ukranian 20-something with reams of chestnut hair that swish around her knees. We rolled up our yoga mats and sighed. “We’ve gone over this a thousand times,” grimaced my friend, who–for the sake of anonymity–will go by “Scorpio.” “If there were a nerve center for fabulous, artsy men, we’d be there.”
As a busy sculptor and graphic designer who was also seeking someone to overwhelm her with creative fireworks, Scorpio, too, had become disillusioned. We’d tried the traditional routes: bars, temples, classes. All we got from bars was other people’s smoke stink and the occasional minty toothpick.
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