Everyone's disguised just a little bit.

I bought the dress for $15 at that vintage store in Montpelier.

I tried it on and it fit perfectly. I was amazed. Home-made. 1950's. It was clear it wasn't just a 1950's style but actually from the 50's. Otherwies the sleeves would have been shortened. The hem above the knee, not below. Stitches were stretching. Buttons fell off long ago.

"Be careful when you wash this," she said with a smile when she handed me the bag.

I held up the dress outside to show Jill. She gave a look that made it clear she was following the if you don't have anything nice to say don't say anything at all rule. I folded the dress back up and placed it in the bag. I didn't care. The dress was mine.

I wore the dress today. It seemed an odd choice. For Wolf Parade. I wore the dress today.

At work, everyone smiled and said nice things. For the first time in a month she spoke to me. "French schoolgirl. Gorgeous dress!"

We went to the show. I felt out of place but didn't care. Alex and I made our way to the front and waited. We danced in place. Happy to be just out of way for the more aggressive fans.

"Just be careful guys. With the 'moshing.' Just be respectful and try to be nice." Spencer said. "I mean that wasn't even a fast song."

The $7 beer hit me fast - my bladder anyway. I pushed my way to the back, behind the bar, to the bathroom. Crowds of people. Standing. Listening. Some pushing forward to get to the bar, me in the opposite direction. Two guys push forward. The second texts away. Gawd, pay attention where you're going guy, I think. He looks up and stares me down. Do I know you, I wonder. Because seriously dude, wtf? He stares me down some more as I push through.

I make my way back to Alex. Fists pump in the air and we sing along. You know I'll believe in anything and you'll believe in anything because nobody knows you and nobody gives a damn either way.

We walk back to Columbus Circle and part ways. I take the D to Herald Square and take the stairs to the PATH. A train sits waiting. It's 11:07 and the train doesn't list a destination. Everyone boards. I assume, it being past 11 and with no one waiting on the platform that the train will make all stops. After 14th street I realize some people are left on the platform after the doors close. At 9th I wonder if maybe this is just a Hoboken train. At Christopher I debate getting up to check but don't move. At Hoboken I follow the crowd out. There are two trains sitting. I board the 33rd street train with everyone else. Frustrated to have to return to Christopher Street to get back to Jersey. Realizing that at that point the trains will only be running the late night schedule and I'll be right back in that spot in another twenty minutes. I sit and wait. As the doors are about to close on the empty train across the platform I realize it is the WTC train, making a stop at Pavonia Newport. I quickly exit the train and make my way across the platform. I get on the train just as the door closes behind me. I realize as I sit that the train isn't as empty as I thought.

His jeans are ripped and I feel him watching me as I sit down. I go back to reading my book.

"This train goes to Connecticut, right?" Even from across the car I can see that he has a good smile.

"Eventually." I didn't know what to say. I smile hoping he didn't hear my failed attempt at a joke. I focus back on my book.

I realize he's moved to the seat across from me before I even look up. Upon closer inspection I realize his eyes are just as good as his smile. He's young but not too young. Teen Beat cute but with just the right amount of roughness around the edges.

"Going to New York?" He has a nice voice.

I shake my head. "Jersey."

"From Jersey to Jersey?"

"No New York to Jersey. Wrong train. Long story."

He asks where I work. Where I live. Where he lives. We exchange vague locations. New York. Jersey City. New York. He was coming from Hoboken. Fun, he says. Sure, I say.

"I like your dress."

"Thanks," I smile.

"You have a really nice smile."

"Thanks," my smile bigger.

"Do you have a boyfriend."

"Yeah, I do." my smile biggest.

I think of the times I've lied to that question. Easier to lie than to explain to a complete stranger that my lack of a boyfriend is not an open invitation. I wonder if I would've lied to him.

"Does he live with you?" A look as if he realizes that it's a strange question to ask just a little too late.

"Nope. He lives in Virginia."

"That's no good."

I shake my head, "no good at all."

"Why does your boyfriend live in Virginia?"

"That's a really good question," I admit.

"Have you ever asked yourself that question?" his smile doesn't fade.

"All the time," neither does mine.

We pull into the station.

"This is my stop," I nod towards the exit. "Good luck getting to New York."

"Good luck with your boyfriend."

I smile to myself as I cross the platform and wait for the Journal Square train. Wolf Parade plays in my head, wishing that I had cell service underground. I wonder if it'll be too late to call by the time I get to Journal Square.

I think about the boy in Virginia. The one who thinks I have a nice smile. The one who would think I looked pretty in this dress. Because this heart's on fire and it's getting better all the time. I think about him and I smile.

Good luck, Goodbye. Thanks, Boss.

I'm pretty sure my stance on romance can be pretty easily summed up by my opinion that Bruce Springsteen's Thunder Road is one of the best love songs ever written if only for the lyric: You ain't a beauty but hey you're alright/Oh and that's alright with me. which is pretty much the sweetest thing ever. Followed closely by the lyrics of Billy Joel's Just the Way Your Are which essentially, if you think about it, says the same thing.

Explains a lot really.