By that I ask Vince if he means he invited the “cute guy” home. “We don’t do that in Boston,” he explains to me. “In fact it doesn’t seem like many people talk to each other at all here unless they’re friends already, which is one reason why I thought he might be into me.” Vince says for him the next level was giving the fellow his phone number. “I figured we’d had such a nice time . . . and it would be great to carry it over to a dinner or coffee sometime.” But “cute guy” had other ideas. “He looked at that piece of paper like I’d dipped it in poison, then looked at me like I’d just spit in his face. Forget about getting his number . . . he said he had to go, got up, and went. I can’t tell you how stupid and useless it made me feel, looking at that piece of paper lying on the table after he left.”