The first person I ever met who made a run at New York was a woman named Paula. I was working as a dishwasher in a seafood restaurant for the summer and Paula was the bartender. She had large, sympathetic eyes and wore spectacularly tight T-shirts, which are two ideal qualities for a bartender to have. Customers were forever mooning over Paula. Even after we’d close, men would come to the door and cup their hands around their eyes, peering into the dark bar. “Paula!” they’d shout. “Paula, are you in there? Paula!” These men became known as “Paula’s Fan…