The woman in the passport wing of my local post office was nice. She reminded me to check my parking meter based on the time she’d seen me walk in. She posed me oh-so-carefully for my Polaroid photo: “Turn your head a millimeter to the left, okay, now up a tiny bit, no, a few angstroms down, good.” (Those weren’t her //exact// words.) The photo came out well. I wanted to ask her out, even though she is probably 20 years older than I am. Maybe I’m just kidding.