Nadav Spiegelman

Where'd You Go, Bernadette

Maria Semple
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A singer named Morrissey was staying at the hotel, and a group of ardent young homosexuals had gathered, hoping for a glimpse.
“That’s not why we’re here,” he said. “We’re here because you wanted closure.” “I just told you that to trick you.” It’s pretty obvious to me now that you can’t say that to somebody and expect them to be fine with it. But I was too excited.
He pointed me to a stand with a computer. I scanned my ID badge. My photo popped up on the screen, along with the words ENJOY YOUR TIME ASHORE, BALAKRISHNA! I felt a surge of annoyance at Manjula, who was supposed to have made sure I got called Bee, but then I remembered she was an Internet bandit.
“I miss her, too, Bee.” His chest jerked violently. He was bad at crying.