Talking is so early 90's.
Silent dating.
Sure, some of the scribbled chitchat was as banal as real talking ("What brings you here?"), but for the most part, the correspondence game freed people to be livelier than usual, one harridan penciling "Fuck you" to my friend without much provocation. ("Fuck me" would have been more to the point.) By the end, I was convinced that this gimmicky mute emporium is the way things ought to be, though the waiter who kept pushing through the crowd with cups of sizzling cocoa, unable to say "Excuse me," was so terrifying I now feel clubs need dumb talk and bad DJs.