N. Likes

Craigslist ads, dubious correspondents, and the question of what turns me on about a story that may well be entirely fictional.

A woman in a shop window stops me cold.

She wants me to write about her. But I write about what I think and what I do — and she’s not quite either.

When all you can do is feel, everything I do becomes a surprise.

A little role-reversal fantasy in which the boss gets what she deserves.

I want to know what you want to read.

I have known monsters. They’re good, decent, kind, loving people.

She sounded too good to be true, and there’s no such thing as that good on Craigslist.

Fleshbot keeps sending people my way. If you’re one of them, welcome — stick around.

My relationship to money and desire, and the ingenious, self-defeating system I built to get the former without risking the latter.