An AL kind of love story

Cut to.. a few weeks ago when MR sent me this book. It's so fun to read about places that I see every single day and  to know that these amazing and true love stories all started there, in that park or that train stop. Reading these stories has allowed me to get pretty creative in my own fantasies, too. I imagine a tall stranger with thick hair and chocolate eyes approaching me on a park bench. He asks me what I'm reading, and then gets down on one knee and proposes a cup of coffee. I say, "Yes," and we fall in love and share books and flip flops and starburst (because he'll let me have all the reds and pinks). But then the reality begins to sink in and the more times that I sit at a park bench in Union Square or ask for directions in Times Square and no tall, dark man asks me for his hand in coffee, I am more skeptical of this possibility. Men don't just come up to you and ask you out.

Cut to... a couple weeks ago when I watched this film on Netflix. The preview and tagline made it look interesting:

"Convinced of his own world-class poetic talent, Calvin Wizzig (Adam Nee) moves to New York City to begin his rise to stardom. Once there, he acquires additional inspiration by falling in love with an anonymous woman on the subway."

The movie was actually pretty terrible, but there is a scene when the male lead writes a poem in his moleskin and gives it to a girl he's never met who is sitting across from him on the subway. I rolled my eyes at this scene, because really, who does that? Men don't just come up to you and give you a poem.

Cut to... last week when I had to get up at 6:00AM to go babysit for the Senator's kids in Greenwich Village. I was waiting for the A Train listening to Beyonce on my ipod in an attempt to get "pumped up" for a day of playing the Wizard of Oz with the twins, and I felt a man looking at me. He was tall and dark, all right, but wearing sweatpants and was approximately 45 years old. Instead of facing the direction that the train would be coming, he was turned around and facing me. I ignored him completely. The train came, and we both got on. After a few stops, he stood up and walked toward me, and holding the metal bar above me, he stood over me. I tried not to look, but I had no choice. He handed me a small, folded piece of paper. I opened it and it was his name and phone number. I took out my headphones, and he said, "Hey, I'm Perry. What's yo name?" I looked at his crooked, yellow teeth, and I said, "Amber." He told me I should call him, and instead of saying something like "No thanks" or "I have a boyfriend," I said, "uh, we'll see." I blame my lack of coffee, sleep, and oxygen; I really don't know what I was thinking. I said something about it being an early morning, really tired, and he agreed, said he was used to getting up early since he was a physical therapist. Right.

And then the train stopped, and he got off. I breathed a sigh of relief. Then I realized that it was my stop too! And I. Booked. It. I sprinted across the platform and didn't stop until I had transfered to the L. I sat down, opened the folded piece of paper to re-read Perry's note, and thought, "I guess men do just come up to you, ask you out, and give you a poem."

How's that for a NYC love story?