It was around 9 p.m. on Saturday night at the Homewood Suites / H Hotel by LAX. We ended up riding the elevator together — you were wearing a black tank top, blue jeans, and had a beautiful silver manicure that caught the light. I couldn’t help but notice your tattoos — stunning artwork that completely drew me in.
I had a hoarse voice from the football game earlier that day, and you mentioned you had just driven up from San Diego. There was something so easy and genuine about that quick exchange. I went back down to the hotel lobby bar afterward, hoping I might run into you again and keep the conversation going — but no such luck.
If you see this and remember the elevator ride, I’d love the chance to actually finish that conversation.
— The guy with the raspy voice and the bad timing