Dear Sir:

I’m sure there is a perfectly reasonable explanation for why you introduced yourself to me on the escalator and then followed me into the bookstore, one that doesn’t involve selling me something, stealing my wallet, poisoning me, or just generally being crazy and/or high. I’m just having a hard time imagining what that might be. Sorry if I acted like kind of a dick.

Best regards,

a Jaded New Yorker

P.S.: Please don’t poison me.

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