So, I did it. I bit the bullet and posted a Missed Connection.

I couldn’t help myself. I had seen a cute boy on the subway. Adorable, actually. This kid was everything I had been hoping New York would have tucked away in one of its dirty, graffiti covered apartments. Everything I had dreamed I’d softly bump into one of these sultry nights on 2nd Avenue.

He wasn’t a skinny, nauseatingly dressed Hipster. He wasn’t a gelled Wallstreeter secretly hiding a yellowed wife-beater under a polished polo. He wasn’t a moody artist wearing eyeliner and hunching over a notebook covered in scrawling of his pain. He was adorably normal. Sweetly natural. Still un-New York-ified. Just like me.

I saw him on the R train heading uptown. The moment I sat down and spied him I became consumed with sneaking looks at his tired, boyish face. He was dressed like he worked in some kind of uptown office, black pants a little too short for his lanky legs, old school headphones perched atop endearingly tousled brown hair. For 15 minutes I looked at him whenever he looked somewhere else.

All too soon he got off. I tried to watch him leave, but my vision was blocked by a marvelously fat guy and his incredibly giant lunch bag. 15 minutes was hardly long enough. I wanted more time with this specimen of cuteness. Read More »