It proved to be a long night. Decorated by a particular drunken stranger I met, whom I was lucky and obliged to spend one whole hour with, on the L Train. He had a foul mouth but his compromised state and good looks allowed it. I could feel all the other strangers around us growing uncomfortable, alarmed by his remarks (one might call it ‘verbal harassment’), my reaction — amusement, as well as their own inaction.

Let’s just say he offered me a sandwich among many other precious things. All of which I appreciated because I could tell he was being genuine and I’ve never been promised so many absurd things all at once before. None of which I accepted because I am terrified of falling in love; even the prospect of having to explain to my grandchildren one day that I met their grandfather on the MTA… that’s not really how I picture it. Otherwise, I would have gladly taken his sandwich, offered my most sincere thanks and eaten it too. Hell, I might have even saved some for later.