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We match with as many people as possible and send said matches the same memo to come meet us. We work on the list, adding items both realistic (soup dumplings in Chinatown) and not (eating them with Bradford Cox). We live on different train lines and Hector's has stopped running for the night. As soon as we begin our walk to the aquarium, Hector and I get distracted by a promotion for an Applebee's drink.
While toying with inquisitive responses, I receive the message that would birth my epic: Hector and I exchange numbers and plan to meet the next day at a large park near the music venue. I finish a Dasani bottle of chardonnay by the time I reach the meeting place. The park is encircled by a track lined with picnic tables; Hector sits on top of one and his height is staggering perched so high in the moonlight. I pull out a pen and notebook from my bag and ask what he would do tomorrow if he could do anything. It's an electric-blue Long Island iced tea called "It's L.
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His continuously thanks me for being there, and offers unyielding praise. A few weeks prior I drew crude symbols on them and wrote the lyrics to Fall Out Boy's "Sugar We're Goin' Down" on the legs in white paint marker. I ask him about another tattoo on his arm: a scale, the symbol of the astrological sign Libra.