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We locked eyes while waiting for our orders at Ess-a-Bagel, both insisting “scallion cream cheese, toasted.” You left before I could muster the courage to say hi, but I’m still craving that second chance.

You lent me your polka-dotted umbrella as we dashed across the plaza during that sudden downpour, joking that “Elaine Benes would never survive this weather.” I never got your name but would love to return the favor—or at least your umbrella.

You played “Wonderwall” on your guitar somewhere between Delancey and Jay St., and I was the girl in red glasses who sang along quietly. I got off before I could say thanks for the soundtrack—if you see this, let’s finish the duet sometime.