Alone and happily adrift for the summer in Brooklyn, a young gay grad student hits the apps for an evening hookup, and within minutes, is met in a neighborhood park by a studly food-delivery cyclist at the end of his shift. Finding an unlit corner, they quickly get each other off, then more idly share a leftover order of slurpy post-coital pad kee mao on a nearby bench, all before they so much as exchange names. For those who view swiping for sex as a violation of the correct social order, this languid, humid, perfectly played scene in Lucio Castro‘s “Drunken Noodles” will confirm all their biases. But there’s
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