The scene is a subway car, heading west, at about nine pm. Enter me, ear buds screwed firmly into ear cavities, mind on my destination (drinks with old university buddies). I choose a place where I can brace myself against a pole, rather than grasping it (I have slight tendencies towards germaphobia), and tune out. I become aware of someone approaching from down the car, who stops right before me, and politely, I remove an ear bud.

“I just wanted to tell you, ” he says, “That you’re the most elegant woman I’ve ever seen.”

“Oh. Uh… thanks.” I say. The man is non-descriptly dressed, probably in his late twenties. One of his eyes appears to be looking over my head and to the left.

“Here’s my email address,” he continues, pulling a card out of his wallet and handing it to me. I accept it, gingerly. Glancing down, I can discern the words “Pavel” and “lover” and have to adjust my face to remain polite.

He leans in, upping the ante on creepiness, and says, “I thought you should know you’re very desirable.”

“Thank you,” I repeat. Thankfully, at this point he retreats, and I jam the card into my purse, and try to make the train go faster by telekenesis. When it arrives at the station, I throw myself up the stairs to the next platform, and, after confirming the absence of Pavel the Lover in my immediate vicinity, pull out the card. I turn it over, and the text on the back reads:

Make your next sexual experience
A sensual adventure