Modern.
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From the New York Times and WBUR Boston.
This is modern love stories of love, loss, and redemption.
I'm your host, Meghna Chakrabarti.
As I rode in a cab across the Brooklyn Bridge, a man I barely knew was sucking my toes.
The lights of the bridge streaked overhead, and Manhattan was a jeweled kingdom, shrinking behind us.
In the darkness of the rearview mirror, sprawled in an awkward position, I felt weirdly detached from my foot.
That's Greta Gerwig, director of Lady Bird.
She's reading Julia Ann Miller's essay about sharing an unusual cab ride.
It's curious to watch someone engaged in an act of erotic passion and feel nothing.
Well, not exactly nothing.
I felt a faint thrill, not of physical arousal, but a stirring of my spirit of adventure.
A blur of light dotted the East river.
The wheels flew over the pavement, and my body whirred through space.
This is it, I thought.
My life here has begun.
I had moved to New York in my late thirties in search of a more glamorous life.
What had brought me to this juncture?
Failure.