one fine day

a fella in a bar slipped me a note, it said something like 'you're incredible. call me if it doesn't work out,' at the time i was on a date with someone else.

anyway, it didn't work out but i never called that note slipper. i was reminded of it today when i went to get a sandwich for lunch because in line with me was this salt-and-pepper haired gent who lives in my residential 'hood and works in my professional 'hood. i see him on the subway often. i see him in the sandwich line often. he is quite handsome and has a fantastic smile line making a quarter-arc descending from the corner of his nose to the corner of his mouth. he is fashionable but in a discrete manner. today he was wearing a black coat and an olive colored scarf. his trousers were checkered in greens and browns, but tastefully. he is always reading the newspaper or new yorker magazine. he is unobtrusive. his fingers are slender.

his partner looks like him. she is slender in figure, has short hair, the same angular face and lines in her skin. they have a child, at least one, and this i know because one day i was with a friend of mine who saw him and said hello. their children are in nursery school together or some such. i saw him at a book conference and my friend told me what he does for a living, and it is not so far afield from what i do.

so, all of which is to say that i had a great temptation to write a note and slip it in his pocket:

'call me if it doesn't work out.'

that would be a bit bold. but exciting. and then i could never make eye contact again, perhaps. perhaps. perhaps.