I fell in love with her instantly. I know that’s easy to say, and it almost never happens, but it’s true. She had a kind of. . . grace. Something you don’t see anymore.

It was quiet in the coffee shop that afternoon, and I sat alone in a corner. Well, not quite alone. My friend Mr. Descartes and I were discussing philosophy. That is to say that he was talking, through the irresistible medium of the written word, and I was listening. Apparently he thought therefore he was. Seems reasonable, doesn’t it?

Anyway, in comes this beautiful woman. She’s tall, with slender arms and legs, and she’s carrying a bag full of books. I might be labelling myself as a certain type of guy here, but it was the bag that caught my attention.

She bought a latte and a bagel. There’s nothing appealing about that coming from me, but you should have heard her say it. “Bagel”. . . Round bread never sounded so good. I hated to have to disagree with Mr. Descartes, but I certainly wasn’t thinking, and yet inexplicably I still was.