We got our ham, bacon, and cheese bagels and started walking around looking around for a bench. It’s a funny realization that there isn’t any benches in Manhattan. We found some stairs to an entrance of an apartment and talked for a few hours about anything, everything and our funny accents. I must say that I am not too shabby at an English accent and his American accent was pretty on point. “Yo broooooo,” is all he kept saying. He explained to me how he apparently played football for the team called Queenspark Rangers. That was a bunch of bologna but I ate it all up.
I find it pretty rad how people meet. The twist of fate of just happening to talk to that person. Then this connection happens and you guys realize that talking to each other is like riding a bike for the first time; a little shaky, a little nerve-racking, but once you get going you just don’t want to stop.
We never did talk again after that, probably never will. But it is sweet memory of the The Brit who convinced me he was a professional football player. And I am sure I am probably a funny story of the naive American girl who believed every word.