Missed connection
We met at that bar. We were having a good time. You didn’t laugh at some of my jokes. But you laughed at others. You asked me to walk you home. Things got a little weird. I didn’t get your number…
I think we should have a do-over. Are you Lucy? Do you know Lucy???
Are you kidding me?
City of eight million people. And no one knows anyone who might know the Lucy I met. I mean, Lucy can’t be as common a name as it used to be — back when Peanuts was popular there used to always be a Lucy around. you couldn’ spit without hitting a Lucy. But today? … I thought I saw her coming out of this coffee shop on Union just a few blocks up. I followed her and kinda sneezed “Lucy” in my hands, but she didn’t turn around. Same hair, I think… As more days go on, I feel like I’m seeing things — like that sequence in Being John Malcovich: except everybody looks like Lucy. Anyway, she wouldn’t turn around so I crossed the street and ran ahead of her, then recrossed the street and undid my laces and pretended to tie them. When she came up, I looked at her. Wasn’t her. Pretty. I mean, if I was looking for her, I woulda been extatic, but it wasn’t Lucy. She smiled, but I just kinda… you know, and walked back to where I was coming from before.
Is this what happens to stalkers? Like right before you end up on Paris Hilton’s doorstep naked with a martini glass…? WTF?



