I’m not entirely sure what I’m doing on a familiarization tour (industry jargon for ‘everything’s paid for in exchange for your coverage’) of North Adams, Massachusetts — an old mill town, 50 miles east of Albany — other than desperately trying not to text a boy who’s somehow become my lifeline.
I cut into my blue-cheese-and-apple burger to reveal a crumbly mess of grayish-brown meat. Letting out a sigh of remorse. I’d ordered medium rare. All of a sudden, I find myself trying not to cry.