The day after, I found myself standing near an elevator in my apartment building wearing the same clothes from the night before and a hairnet that was definitely not from the grocery store down the street. It all made sense when I thought about how Alex was a pastry chef, or at least claimed to be, and the way she kept mentioning butter as an aphrodisiac. Our whirlwind conversation had something to do with how we were both fans of obscure Scandinavian music – turns out that meant more than an hour's discussion of Burzum's sonic evolution and its effect on the local goth scene. I was starting to remember the way my feet felt heavy from dancing on top of a stack of vinyl crates when I realized maybe I'd hit on someone I'd met online under the pseudonym 'NordicNightmare99.'
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