She saunters out of Little Columbia as if she had 10 minutes to get across campus. Brushes up against me, doesn’t notice my not noticing her on purpose. I’m a stranger, and not even a familiar one at that. I want to be upgraded out of coach. I want hot towels, the whole shebang. I stand there frozen, like the 17½ icecubes I explicitly ordered in my daily fiber substitute. Poor choice of strategy—her stride dissolves her into the chocolate city. I run after her, tap her on the shoulder ever so lightly. She turns. She’s wearing…

(wtf, did i just feel a 10 second earthquake here in vancouver? just as i typed up that last word, there…wtf)