4288 results found in Missed Connections, United States

You balanced your book on your knees while the train lurched, bright yellow umbrella tucked at your side. I sat across from you, pretending to read, but really counting the stops before you stood and disappeared at West 4th. Hope the rain didn’t catch you that day.

You offered me your umbrella when mine flipped inside out, and we laughed as the wind made us both look ridiculous. Before I could thank you properly, the light changed and you were gone, lost in a river of yellow cabs. Maybe we could share a dry moment next time?

You were reading Murakami with your headphones on, feet barely touching the floor, and kept glancing up at every stop. I’m the guy with the coffee stain on my shirt who kept trying to look cool while standing next to you. We both got off at 14th Street—let’s not miss our stop again.

You balanced your book on your knees while the train lurched, bright yellow umbrella tucked at your side. I sat across from you, pretending to read, but really counting the stops before you stood and disappeared at West 4th. Hope the rain didn’t catch you that day.

You were reading Murakami with your headphones on, feet barely touching the floor, and kept glancing up at every stop. I’m the guy with the coffee stain on my shirt who kept trying to look cool while standing next to you. We both got off at 14th Street—let’s not miss our stop again.

You spilled your coffee, I spilled my bagel, and we both laughed as the universe conspired against our breakfast. I wish I’d asked your name instead of just offering napkins. If you’re reading this, I still owe you a new bagel—maybe with extra schmear this time.

You offered me your umbrella when mine flipped inside out, and we laughed as the wind made us both look ridiculous. Before I could thank you properly, the light changed and you were gone, lost in a river of yellow cabs. Maybe we could share a dry moment next time?

You were reading Murakami with your headphones on, feet barely touching the floor, and kept glancing up at every stop. I’m the guy with the coffee stain on my shirt who kept trying to look cool while standing next to you. We both got off at 14th Street—let’s not miss our stop again.

You were reading Murakami with your headphones on, feet barely touching the floor, and kept glancing up at every stop. I’m the guy with the coffee stain on my shirt who kept trying to look cool while standing next to you. We both got off at 14th Street—let’s not miss our stop again.

We both reached for the last slice at Joe’s and ended up splitting it, debating the merits of pineapple on pizza. I left before I could ask your name. Still hungry for another conversation!

You lapped me twice around the reservoir, each time offering a friendly wave and an encouraging “You got this!” I lost you near the 90th Street exit, but your smile stuck with me all day.

You squeezed next to me with your sunflower yellow umbrella, apologizing for the puddles. We exchanged smiles through steamed-up glasses until you dashed off at Delancey. If you see this, I’d love to share a drier commute—or coffee.