Missed Connections: September 13–20

Big Brown Eyes

It was on Locust, between 39th and 40th. I was walking with my headphones in and not paying attention, but for a moment, I looked up. Our eyes locked. Yours, a deep, soulful brown; mine, also brown. I knew from that moment I wanted you. I'll never forget what you said to me: "Arf, arf."

If you want to go for a walk sometime, just wag your tail.

Early Riser

It was a Sunday morning. You were behind me in line at Starbucks on 34th when I asked the barista to borrow a pair of scissors. When you saw me—visibly hungover and mentally resigned—using those same scissors to open the package of a morning-after pill, you averted your eyes and left the cafe. I remember your red pants and jet-black hair. If the Plan B works, I'd love to grab a drink next weekend.

Donut Pass Me By

Eight months ago, our paths crossed at Wawa. You were all dressed up, but your date had left you. I was stealing a donut from the case by the entrance. You watched me steal the donut. I know this because I was making uninterrupted eye contact with you the whole time. It looked like you were going to say something, but you just shook your head and walked out. I don't want to meet up; I just want you to know that I was really hungry that night, and I was having a bad day, and I was overcharged for a hoagie the week prior at the very same Wawa location. So, the donut was totally justified. I earned that donut. Do not scoff at my choices. Walk a mile in my shoes and THEN we'll see how you feel about my Wawa donut discount.