There was a bartender named Jax who liked to drink. He drank so much he tasted inhuman, like pencil erasers and steel. Mazzy detested him. His texts always came after midnight, when I knew he was blackout. I was a cross between a booty call and a suicide hotline. Still, I replied. He was so much nicer over text than in person. He sent me kissy emojis, memes of puppies in baskets, links to Joan Armatrading songs. We never sexted, just exchanged inspirational quotes. Be Gentle with Yourself, for You Are a Child of the Earth … Who knows how he’d saved my number in his phone? Needy Ho, Long Hair. Always Texts Back. A string of emojis I’d be too afraid to decode.