I have a confession

12 Bistro Indigenes was packed with the dinner crowd. Male and female servers scurried about in neat black aprons and matching bandannas. By the time I got there, Amber was already waiting. She was in a dress—fancy casual. And she was wearing more makeup than I’d seen on her before. She looked really nice. But …

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The Rat King

11 Thirty-five-year-old Julie Festinger was running with her dog on the border of gentrified Williamsburg. She turned a corner and a feral cat hissed at them from a brick retaining wall. The animal’s fur was sparse—more than three-fourths of it had fallen out—and its eyes were frosted. Her dog barked and the cat rose on …

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