Sometimes I see an aspect of me I don’t understand. I see it in the post office when your eyes meet mine and I smile. You frown and look the other way. I suppose that being at the post office is a serious game to you or maybe, you think I’m hitting on you.

I buy a stamp and walk through the parking lot. I smile again, this time at a man in his winter parka, unzipped in 20 degree weather. I imagine he has no one to remind him it’s cold and he smiles back and tells me I’m cute as I fumble to get back into my car, pretending I can’t hear what he said.