Where: This morning on the Richmond bound train, bouncing along through the Peninsula’s foggy little boxes, next to the ‘world’s most beautiful freeway.’
You: In your early to mid thirties, tallish (6 ft?), wavy dark brown hair, romantically Slavic, neatly disheveled, aquiline nose, the kind of stubble that says you’re too cerebral to completely shave, yet you care enough about appearance to buy an electric razor. Wearing a fuzzy grayish brown sweater that looked a little too small, like maybe you’d mistakenly put it in the dryer. It reminded me of a squirrel. Alas, no elbow patches. when you glanced up from your Chekhov, your eyes seemed to be a very pale green.
Me: Midtwenties, also tallish, also with wavy dark brown hair and a supposedly aquiline nose. Alas, no stubble or exoticism but my best attempt at fashionably professorial youthful: vintage pink glasses, gray shawl-neck sweater (no elbow patches), and a gray pencil skirt. Reading a photocopy from the journal of visual studies.
Let’s move to the environs of a liberal arts college and make babies.