“You look better than your pictures,” he said after he opened the door. He’d sent me a blurry one of himself in sunglasses, from the chest up. He was in his forties and much heavier than I’d expected. I can’t remember if I told him my real name, but I hope not. He apologized for the quality of the hotel and said he’d chosen it for my convenience because it was near Penn Station. His unfamiliarity with the city should have given so much away. He sat next to me on the bed. The conversation portion had concluded. He touched my breasts.