It was my third date with Dave and I wasn’t looking forward to it much.

In fact I was a little hesitant about the whole thing, the guy obviously liked me far more than I liked him and this made me uncomfortable. There were things about him that bugged me; he read comic books (oh I’m sorry, graphic novels), loved horror films so much that his home was decorated to honor them, he was at his own admission a pothead, and he was not what I considered attractive at all.

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Last week I was walking down the street and saw a man sitting on the stoop of a brownstone.

He held a velvet box, clamshell style. Yeah, one of those boxes. It was open, and it was occupied. He spun it in his hand slowly, examining it from all angles like foreign currency. Walking past him, I actually laughed out loud. I sensed his nervousness, it was touching. I was witnessing the preamble to a very important moment in someone’s life. Even after I passed him, I looked back and smiled. I wanted to stop and ease him, but I thought better of it.

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