You approached me at a coffee shop, my second home. You had noticed my old green alumni sweatshirt that I wear when I don’t want to decide what to wear. We both graduated from Ohio University; 2 years apart. Connection. You smiled. You asked me genuine questions. And it felt good to be friendly. Pause while we each ordered our coffees. You, an Americano, $2.75, and me, an almond latte, $4.25. After paying my $5, I told you how nice it was to meet you. And it was. I didn’t realize until afterwards how long it had been since a man, a stranger, struck up a conversation with me without making me feel completely uncomfortable and forcing me to whip out my standard, rehearsed “no thank you” while quickening my pace away from the threat much like I do at the mall when T-Mobile and Sprint slaves call out their pitches. Who are you with? Instead, you asked about me – and who I am as a person. Not caring who I am with or if I might consider being with you. And if I wasn’t already with Verizon, I might consider your non-pitch (though I’m guessing your non-pitch was exactly that – you aren’t looking, I’m not bait, we’re free to just connect).