Knead Beats Love With a Stranger in a Cheap Hotel
He was a stout Israeli, 55, sitting at the end of the bar at a San Francisco restaurant called Scalia’s. He wore gray flannel pants and a striped, Chiclets-colored shirt, and he had on many tangled necklaces, all made of tortoise shell; one was a Mogen David. It was about midnight; I was staying in Read More
