Missed Connection (In The Time Of Coronavirus)
West Third Street, near Orlando, 2:00 PM-ish, Friday, June 5.
Me: LA guy, rushing out of Magnolia, carrying large box of cupcakes. I was the one wearing the blue, three-ply paper face mask with ear loops and matching CVS Nitrile Exam Gloves.
You: Tall, slim, long legs, striding in my direction. Rocking a black, silky face mask (so sexy), a Dodgers cap, and long, flowing blonde curls. I think you were a woman. Not sure, my glasses were fogged.
You have a cute button nose. I could see its shape under your mask. Below the nose, I’m guessing, a mouth? Further down, the contour of an adorable chin cleft. Either that or the mask was bunching up.
Really dug your whole grunge look, the sweats that looked like you’d worn them all week.
Did we have a moment there? I think so. My heart palpitated. My breath quickened. I felt faint. I was carrying my pulse oximeter, so I measured my oxygen intake. It was a solid 98%! Whew.
Afraid I’d blow my chance to get your number, I rushed toward you. Did I penetrate the CDC’s recommended six-foot perimeter? My bad.
You stopped short. Lurched. Stomped off the curb into traffic. Nearly got hit by a Jag U-turning from Son of a Gun’s curbside pickup. They make an epic fried chicken sandwich. I’d love to share one with you.
Pretty sure you saw me because you turned and looked in my direction for a long, long time with those piercing, black eyes. Your mouth, under the mask, formed a big O, like in that Edvard Munch painting.
If you read this, leave a note for me at Magnolia — I’m there pretty much every day. Oh, do you mind washing your hands before you write it?