I need to go to bed.

A guy approached me on the subway platform at Brooklyn Bridge City Hall. I was on my way to a reading in the East Village. He asked about the 6 train. He mentioned where he was from they don’t have multiple trains on one line. I asked where he was from, and he said Montreal. Then he asked where I was from, and I said Florida. Then he said he’ll be going to Florida next week for vacation. Then I asked what he was doing here in New York City, and he said vacation.

Then we went on a date.

Which never happens. A stranger never picks up on me and takes me out that same night. He doesn’t show me his vast knowledge of everything and I’m never impressed with his second Masters in Math he’ll be getting at McGill this year. And we never eat from the same plate or drink out of the same water bottle and I’m never enamored with the way he talks or looks sincerely into my eyes. And I never have a fun time, because I never do that; I’m never impulsive like that. But since he was from out of town and cute with beautiful hair and he dined and charmed me into a million pieces, I can accept that fact that it did happen. I was awake. It was not a dream.