#JOURNALISM: “Tight white polo shirts,” “perfectly weathered face”: Holed up in coronavirus quarantine, love-starved NYC female writers churn out Andrew Cuomo bodice-rippers. “Like a velveteen gravity blanket for my soul, the second I see this man’s perfectly weathered face and tousled curls, the moment his Pacino-like accent fills my living room with its mafia-like authority, my blood pressure drops, my breasts seem to perk up on their own, and a tingly feeling of optimism washes over my imprisoned body as I think to myself… I think we’re gonna be okay….”