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29-Sep-2015 13:08

When Maura got to her computer later that night, she went to her i Cloud account and selected Find My i Phone.

Since the phone was off, she wasn’t able to bring up a GPS-generated map of its location.

The device had been located: It was currently in Harlem, at the Reverend Dr. Towers, a housing project several blocks north of Central Park.

She had no idea how her phone had made the 120-mile trek from Montauk to Manhattan, but she had a surreal vision of it traveling on its own, facing the same choices any yuppie would face: Do you catch a ride in someone’s car? Or is it faster to hop on the Long Island Rail Road?

But she checked the “notify me when found” box so she’d receive an email when her phone connected to the Internet again.

She also put the phone in “Lost Mode,” which meant her phone display would flash a number where she could be reached so a sympathetic party could get in touch to return it.

Locally, it’s known as one vertex of the “Bermuda Triangle,” a trio of bars where sobriety and personal dignity tend to go missing under murky circumstances.

(The Memory Motel in particular is also famous for inspiring The Rolling Stones’ worst song.)As Maura left the bar around closing time that Saturday night, she realized her phone had gone missing.

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She talked to bouncers and bartenders who professed ignorance, then had a friend call her phone, which went directly to voicemail.She’d gone out that night with the battery fully charged, which suggested that someone had found the phone and turned it off.Sunday passed without any further information and Maura returned to Manhattan.But on Monday morning, she received a message from Find My i Phone.

In the summer of 2013 my friend Maura lost her i Phone in the Hamptons.

(Maura asked me not to use her last name because of the sensitive nature of this story.) She was partying at a decidedly retrograde bar in Montauk—The Memory Motel.