She was a rich kid home for the holidays. I was a poor kid home for the holidays. We met on Tinder. I was staying at my broke mom's place; she was staying at her rich dad's place. We met up at Ozzie's. We had a lot in common—actually, we didn't have much in common besides the fact that we'd both been dumped right before the holidays and neither of us had a place to go. She got us a hotel room. The sex was good, but she started to cry afterward—the guy who'd dumped her was her fiancé, and I was the first guy she slept with since the breakup. She got dressed and wanted to leave. I thought I'd spend the night in the room, since it was paid for, but she insisted I leave too. She trusted me so far as sex was concerned, but she didn't trust me not to run up a room-service bill on her credit card. I texted her the next day to say thanks and wish her well. She sent me a smiley-face emoji and then blocked me. "MARSHAL," AGE 31

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