with my Starbucks stalker who is from Dubai. As you may or may not recall, I had the misfortune of meeting this guy a few weeks ago and failed at saying no when he asked for my number. Since then, I’ve become one murder-in-an-alley-with-body-parts-chopped-up-and-subsequently-dispersed-geographically-within-a-few-mile-radius away from becoming a cautionary tale. I’ve gotten the below texts from him, so I photographed them in their various stages, because I want you to feel the same Jaws theme-worthy, dreadful anticipation as you view them that I did in real time. Per my mother’s suggestion, I saved his # as “DO NOT ANSWER” as a would-be helpful reminder. But it turns out that being jolted by the sound of a text message while simultaneously looking down to see “DO NOT ANSWER” glaring at me menacingly, while I’m alone in the dark on the living room floor of my apartment and what I’m doing there isn’t important, is actually completely terrifying. So, once again, thanks, Mom.