It's the most random comment so I say yeah I am and he asks why I'm wearing glasses, and I figure even though we're in West Philly--street-smart turf--we're in a public safe place, right near College Green, no reason not to answer, so I do. I tell him the truth, I'm nearsighted. And he tells me he's blind and he can see the reflection of my glasses. I don't know if he's blind but I'm not going to contradict him. And then he asks if I have a safety pin. I'm figuring he's going to ask for money but you can't exactly say no when someone asks you for a safety pin and you happen to have one. I mean what kind of person am I if I can't spare a safety pin? So I dig through my pocket and pull out this safety pin. Then he asks me to pin his pants. And it's becoming this weird situation, I just want to get out of there, but the way he asks he sounds harmless and I would feel rotten if I'd left him, so I do it, and the pin isn't really strong enough so it takes too long, but finally I get it fastened. And he says thanks and I've saved his life, he's been holding them up since Second Street--this is Thirty-Fourth Street where we are, about an hour's walk--and then he says he loves me. And he asks if I need anything, offers me money, says he's got forty bucks in his pocket. I say no but thanks, ask if he needs anything because it seems like the right thing to say. He says no. He tells me his address in case I ever need anything. And he tells me his name.

His name's Cupid.

The whole situation feels surreal, like when you meet people who are really spiritual or tripping on acid and you try to have a conversation with them, and you feel like they know some basic truth or something, that they're connected to something you're usually not but would kind of like to be. And so he asks for a hug, or asks to give me a hug, or something, it's hard to tell exactly what he's saying, and I'm figuring okay, a hug and then I'll jet and never see the guy again, and I'll feel good about myself, and he'll feel good, and that'll be it.

So there's a hug, and then he squeezes my hand, and he asks which way I'm going, and we wind up walking down Locust Walk and he's got my hand. And then we pass the Palladium and he says lets go in and have a drink and I say no and he says you don't drink? and I shake my head and he asks coffee? and I say no and then he says we can't make love in my apartment because of the lice and I'm just like uh-oh.

He keeps talking, trying to entice me I guess, all the while holding my hand in such a way that I can't easily let go. And then he says you haven't had a boyfriend in six years. So I say no, but I've had a girlfriend. And he says you're a lesbian? It doesn't matter. Have you ever had a red man? and I'm feeling queasy like lunch is on its way back up and Cupid tells me that lesbianism isn't the right way to be.

We pass an acquainance of mine, this guy Chip, and I call to him, looking for a way out of this situation, and Chip comes over and Cupid tells him to take my other hand, they're gonna cure me of my lesbianism. And Chip gives me a quizzical look at the whole thing and asks, you're not a lesbian are you? It's not quite the right moment to say I'm bi, so I say yeah and he makes some joke about me coming out with Ellen from the T.V. show, and I say I've been out, and then we reach a corner where he's planning to turn and he takes off, and I'm stuck with Cupid and we're nearing Thirty-Seventh Street. Cupid says he's going to the soup kitchen so I say I'm going the other way and he asks for a hug and a kiss and I say no and he says I love you a bunch of times and asks again and finally I get away.

I go into the nearest building and wash my hand and wash it again and tell the story to everyone I see, hoping by telling I can get rid of the queasy icky feeling inside. And then I find the nearest computer lab and log on to my email account, usually that calms me down, usually that's a good place to be, and there's a message from my ex-girlfriend with a nondescript subject line and I jump at first thinking it's in response to my graduation email but it's not, it's just a post to the Indigo Girls list where we met, but I read it anyway.

Everyone on the list is telling stories this week about their indigo moments, times when you're somewhere and you hear an Indigo Girls song come on when you don't expect it, and so my ex is describing how she was up on the coast by the water yesterday, watching these baby seals, laying on the hood of a truck, her and her cutie girlfriend--that's how she says it, her cutie girlfriend--and Power of Two comes on the radio, and oh wow the seals were so peaceful and she swears they were singing along. And my hand still feels like it has cooties where Cupid held it and my email's making the rest of me feel downright rotten and it's definitely time to graduate and get the hell out of Philadelphia.