They brought us a "snack box" with a packet of sausage, which seemed oddly appropriate, since I was the only woman passenger on the very light flight from Milwaukee to Newark. I was the girl in the green beret, gripping the arm of my chair in fear during takeoff; you were the fellow one row back in cute glasses and an earflap hat. Then I saw you on the train to Penn Station. I resolved to say something if you'd followed me onto the subway, but alas, that was where our paths diverged. If you're a fellow Midwestern transplant, hit me back and we can go to a bar where they serve Spotted Cow.
