bove ground, the cold December air smacks me with reason and I know what I need to do.

I'll give her a call. Find out what the deal is. Simple enough. NYNEX has conveniently placed a pay phone just a few doors down from the Taco Bell. I walk down the block, past it's glowing yellow sign, hearing the internal cheers again and feeling just a little bit smug. I pull into the phone kiosk and start entering her number. I know it by heart now, that's big for me.

As my finger bounces up from the 7, the fifth number, I feel something. It's an arm around my neck. And I hear something. "Don't fuckin' move." It sounds just like my friend Ernie, who I spent the weekend with, but I quickly realize that I left Ernie in Philadelphia. This must be someone other than Ernie. This is probably someone I don't know. I feel something in my back. It's hard. Or is it sharp? Either way, it hurts and I don't like it. My hands go up. I don't know why, I don't remember putting them there, they just go. The guy behind me doesn't like that. Neither does his friend. "Put you're fuckin' hands down. I'll fuckin' kill you. Just give me your money. Don't be putting your hands up. I'm fuckin' serious." I realize I don't really have much money with me. I meant to go to the cash machine before, but I forgot.

"I've only got ten dollars"

His friend really doesn't like that. "Ten fuckin' dollars", I hear him mumble. He tells me to reach into my pocket and give it to him. As I reach I remember that I stopped to buy tokens. I don't have ten dollars, I have less, probably something like seven dollars and change. I'm saying this aloud. I hear myself. I'm telling him about the tokens, the seven dollars, apologizing. I don't want him to think I lied. I try to turn around so I can explain to his face.

"Don't turn around. I'll fuckin' kill you. Don't turn around. What's wrong with you?" He pushes my head. "Nothing," I say. They've got my seven dollars, now they grab my wallet. "Damn", I think,"my cards. I haven't finished my Christmas shopping." My notebook comes out of my other pocket. They don't care about that and throw it on the ground. All I can hear, on Broadway at 8:00 pm on a Sunday night, is the ruffling of the pages. It opens to the back page. I see her number. I want to see her. I hope they don't bash my head in before they go, but I'm sure that they will. Why wouldn't they? He hands my wallet back, the cards are there. I say "Thanks" and put it back in my pocket. Now someone is frisking me. My eyes focus on a flyer hanging up in the kiosk offering a "Tickle Me Elmo" doll for $200. It has those things at the bottom with a phone number that you can tear off. They're flapping in the wind. The sound is deafening. They find my Walkman in my pocket. There is a tape inside with a song I want to play for her. They would probably let me keep the k.d. lang tape, if I tell them, but I don't think of it. It is gone. They are done. What happens now? Will they give me one good shot to the head? Just because? They don't. "Don't turn around." That won't be a problem. "Make your call", he sneers. And then they are gone. I stand there for what feels like hours, looking down at my notebook lying open on Broadway. I think about making my call, but what will I say? I look up at Taco Bell but I don't feel hungry. And I've got no money. I pick up my notebook and start walking to her apartment. It is a long walk. It's only 6 blocks, it just seems longer. I feel numb, I feel like I'm in a movie. Halfway there I realize my walkman is gone. I'm bummed, it was going to be a year old on Wednesday. I notice I'm clutching my notebook tightly in my right hand. Why?

"What just happened?", I wonder. "Did it really happen? Should I tell anyone? Should I tell her? I don't want to burden her with this. Or make her feel bad. Or weird. Should I just go home?"

I get to her apartment. I ring the bell. She opens the door. She looks amazing. I feel wooden. She smiles and kisses me.

"I just got mugged."

She looks at me.

"Actually, it's kind of a romantic story."