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Alan's Approach 
Alan stepped from the shadows just as she was passing. He didn't 
mean for it to begin this way. He didn't mean to be in the shadows. 
    Perhaps Alan, poor gowk, was guilty of over thinking this whole 
thing. Perhaps what was called for was a more temperate approach, 
a card, sent anonymously, with a stamp affixed upside down, which 
Alan thought meant "sealed with a kiss." 
    No, not a kiss. It could not begin with even the suggestion of a 
kiss. Alan fretted. Late into the white nights he sat beneath his desk 
lamp and tried to focus. He pressed his fingers against his forehead 
as if he could force the insula to react. 
    He didn't mean to step from the shadows. She was so lovely. He 
saw her walking down the sidewalk just as carefree as a child at play, 
as if she were unaware that she was moonquakes and arrhythmia. 
She looked a bit like the actress Patsy Kensit. 
    Alan stepped from the shadows just as she was passing. 
    "I won't hurt you if you don't move," he said. 
    It was not what he had prepared. Alan was ad-libbing. 
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