Wait, you don’t imagine elaborate narratives where, say, Adrien Brody’s car breaks down in a stretch in the wilderness with nothing but your cabin for miles. So he walks toward the only structure and I’m there studying mosses and it’s so remote I have a sat phone I let him use to call for help, but it’ll be a while so I make him some tea and we get to talking. Night falls before help comes so I light a fire in the pit and let him borrow a sweater I stole from an ex and pull out a bottle of whiskey I was saving for something special but it’s special enough. It keeps us chatting untill the early hours when a tow truck finally shows and I see him off. When I get home from my studies I find a package waiting for me—it’s the sweater he borrowed, a thank you card, and a bottle of fine whiskey?

(I’m uncomfortable sexually fantasizing about real people.)