The atmosphere in the lobby was entirely too frantic. I jogged through the neighborhood to my favorite little Cuban place and sat for a minute with my café con leche to take stock of my situation in an entirely less shrill environment. It did seem that if a stranger approached my table and struck up a conversation, there would be few safe subjects for small talk. “So, you got a boyfriend?” this stranger might ask. I think I do, but I might have just gotten dumped on my ass. “How ‘bout a job?” Not too sure about that either. I had one when I got here, seems like I might not have one when I get home. In fact, I might already not have my job. Which means I might not be able to make it home. “I see. And that’s where your boyfriend is? At home?” Okay, imaginary nosy stranger, you wanna lay off
