K. was my first—and probably my only—Stan. I met him at Mood Ring of all places, at a party thrown by a mutual friend. He practically screamed when he figured out that I was the one who’d written that essay about Dimes Square, an essay that had “broken a certain corner of the internet,” as a skateboarder I’d never met put it over DM. Though I was more than a bit mortified by my experience, it still felt novel to speak with someone who had read my work so fervently. Essays don’t typically find their ideal reader.
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