Fucking great. And now I have to work. Now I have to work trying to get other people’s love lives in order. What a cosmic joke. Not only that, but I no longer even have an office to go to, or colleagues to make small talk with, or a coffee machine that will dispense caffeine to me at will. Just a totally unfathomable espresso maker that could double as a 747 cockpit and a corner of this borrowed couch that I swear is made from burlap, because my friend Dylan lives in a Pottery Barn catalog. (You may say that couch surfers can’t be couch choosers, but I—in the throes of my melancholy and with half my hair in a permanent state of static cling—say we can all be critics.)

I close my eyes and try the breathing exercise that, of course, Jordan once taught me—inhale for four, hold for seven, exhale for eight—before I respond.

PerseMan: Hey there. I’m great. How are you doing? It’s okay. I can do this sort of idle chitchat in my sleep. I haven’t spent the past two years becoming the top ghostwriter at Tell It to My Heart for no reason. I’ve honed these skills enough that I can practically be on autopilot. Right?

Jules478: Good.

Right. Except I just broke the cardinal rule of online dating: Much like improv, never ask a question that can be responded to with a one-word answer.

I try to rectify.

PerseMan: Have you seen the summer concert schedule for Forest Hills Stadium, by the way? It’s pretty amazing this year.

My guy . . . I scan my open files for his name . . . Farhad. That’s it. He’s a music buff, so I know this is important.

Jules478: Yes! Belle and Sebastian and Greta Van Fleet? Amazing!

PerseMan: I know, right?

I type the response automatically and then scroll over to the schedule myself, trying to figure out which one of these goddamn stupid bands Farhad might be into. Oh, right. He had mentioned LCD Soundsystem in his questionnaire.

PerseMan: Super excited for LCD myself.

Jules478: Yeah? They’re cool too.

Okay, so she’s less excited about that one. But, hey, they can each bring different musical tastes to the relationship. That’s the beauty of romance, right? Everyone brings their own interests into it, and then they mix and mingle, and sometime later, there is a little embryo that has genetically combined those passions into something that can be cradled in an artsy, black-and-white Instagram post.

PerseMan: Do you like kids?