Weird coincidence

A few weeks ago I posted about following some tattooed, bearded hottie from the 42nd Street stop where we both emerged from the train. Well, wouldn't you know it, I saw him again. And this time it's as I'm waiting FOR the train at my neighborhood station. Which means homeboy lives near me, also works near me, and continues to light up my morning with his hotness. I've discovered that he boards the train about 10 minutes later than I normally do, and thus, I only see him when I'm running late.

My boy Mack was all, "Why don't you go introduce yourself?"

All people should be forced to wear some sort of symbol indicating their dating status. You know, kind of like the scarlet letter. Someone asked me the other day how we protect our children against child molesters. Well, that's how. The adulterers will, of course, stick with the big crimson A.

That was a really terrible tangent for a social worker. What I mean is, the subway isn't exactly the appropriate venue in which to spontaneously hit on a stranger. The rejection would be suffocating. Although, on the other hand, subway romance is largely underutilized. There's something to be said for the gravity an audience adds to a person's behavior.

My point is, I would never come on to a complete stranger on the subway, especially while he's wearing a Pod and engrossed in a Neil Gaiman novel.

And you know what the kicker is? I wouldn't even be writing this insane rant about the politics of dating if Bulgakov's Master and Margarita was as good as everyone claims it is. The only reason I noticed His Hotness in the first place was because this book sucks and I resort to people-watching after every two paragraphs. Imagine if he hadn't died before he finished writing it. I'd be in for a much more punishing read.