Puppet master – or man with burner accounts, hiding behind his screens?

We’re both busy as hell (and separated by four hundred miles of highway), so I’ll take what I can get. If that means an impromptu lunch date between Zoom calls, I’ll see you again in four to six months.

I had just finished re-racking my weights when I spotted a familiar t-shirt at the gym. It was plain and white, with a single word plastered across it in bold, black letters: FREEDOM. Yikes. This morning, the wearer was a late-middle-aged man. He was tall and bony with deep eye bags and sunken cheeks — not exactly

9:30 PM, and I was staring down the freshly-stocked snack shelf once again. All day, I did what I was supposed to: I counted calories, I hit my macros, I ate a diet so bland you’d think I had an upset stomach. But finally, my self-control reached its limit, and now, I thought only of