I stayed for 90 days. I got the checkmark. And then I moved back to Columbus.

Priya’s job is to walk the neighborhood with a clipboard and check that the “explicit intent” signs on everyone’s front lawn are still accurate. Each house has a digital placard that changes daily: Today’s Intent: Cuddling. / Today’s Intent: Solitude. / Today’s Intent: Discussing Hegel. “The porn industry tried to move here in 2021,” she told me. “We voted them out. They weren’t nymphomaniacs. They were just boring.”

Two months later, I sold my condo in the sterile anonymity of Columbus, packed a duffel bag filled with notebooks, a polygraph machine from the 90s, and three changes of clothes, and moved into 1423 Elm Street. I was going to write the definitive long-read on the only verified nymphomaniacs’ neighborhood in North America.

The most famous landmark is the in the center of town—a massive granite slab engraved with the names of every resident who has passed the community vote. My name would be added after 90 days.