There are two kinds of people on the Independent: the ones who still believe in Valentine’s Day and those who have realized that love is a con(mag) and journalism is better than any monogamous relationship—even one between journalists. As we met with our sources at hole-in-the-wall coffee shops in the Upper West Side of Providence and waited by the phone for Mr. WET to call back, we couldn’t help but wonder: are we the new Hallmark? And is the newsroom a reflection of the dating pool––in dire need of copy editors?
They say that Cupid’s arrow never strikes twice, but we beg to differ. We’re on-again off-again with incoherent metaphors and cheating on our deadlines because we spent too much time wondering a second thing: Can an alt-weekly ever love us back? Or are we wasting our twenties chasing after a paper that’s too Independent to be tied down?