We met on the corner of East Fourth Street and Broadway. She was standing next to a Village Voice rack looking lonely and I was heading over to a buddy's place for yet another night of drinking myself under the table. Being unemployed, I'd been renting a lot of movies and, because she was my love goddess, a disproportionate number of them were hers. She didn't have to be the star. She just had to be in it, which was good because for the number of flicks she was in, she had a major part in so few.

When I saw her, I felt cool. Very cool, in fact. Not only was I decked out in the best of my NASA gear – I had a NASA hat on backwards, was wearing my blue Dickies work jacket on which I had sewn a NASA patch, and was carrying my space agency Zippo – but, of all the people walking down Broadway on a Friday night, I was the only one to recognize her. She looked as cool as I felt, not wearing her usual large blue sweatshirt and gray sweatpants I'd seen her wear at so many standup shows, but instead a pair of baggy jeans, a hip secondhand button down shirt, and a work jacket similar to mine but lacking in governmental patches.

I stood on the corner for a few heartbeats, watching the light turn from red to green to yellow then back to red again and tried to figure out what I was going to say to her. Was "love" too strong of a word to use in my first communication with her? Probably, so I lit a cigarette and waded through the sidewalk traffic over to her with something else in mind.

"Hey," I said. "I saw Steal This Movie today and thought that it was probably the best role you've ever been in. Just thought I'd tell you that."

"Really," she said, almost surprised that I'd recognized her.

"Yeah," I said.

"Well, what's your name," she asked. I could feel my heart stop and my limbs go numb.

"Colin," I said.

"Well, Colin, have you got another one of those," she asked pointing at the burning butt between my fingers. I nodded and fished another out from my pack then lit her up with my chrome lighter. She inhaled deeply with a smile that belied the utter pleasure she felt while smoking.

* * *

"So, let me ask you something," she asked. I nodded. "What's with the NASA thing?"

"The NASA thing," I asked.

"Yeah. You've got a lot of NASA shit. What's the story?"

"I don't know," I said, tired of once again defending the greatest thing since sliced bread. "I guess that I just like what it stands for. You know… taking mankind to the next level. It's the only government agency that tries to do that. You can't say the same about the IRS, can you?"

Janeane laughed a little flutter of a laugh and shook her hair in a nervous way. "No," she swooned. "No you can't."

I looked at my wrist for the watch I didn't own to check the time. It was cool to be talking to her, but I had things I needed to do, drinks that needed to be drunk, and friends I had to do the drinking with. At first I wanted to speak to her so badly but all I could feel after our brief dialogue was a sneaking desire to break away and get on with the evening but I didn't think the chick was going to let me get away.

"So, Colin," she said slowly while kicking her Doc Martin clad feet together shyly. "Do you want to get a drink?"

* * *

"So, let me ask you something," she asked. I nodded. "What's with the NASA thing?"

"The NASA thing," I asked.

"Yeah. You've got a lot of NASA shit. What's the story?"

I looked around nervously and suddenly felt very uncomfortable. The only woman in Hollywood who I worshiped had just asked me about the only thing I couldn't justify. "Uh," I mumbled. "I don't know. Look, I got to go."

Without looking up from my feet, I quietly hurried away and across the street, narrowly missing a cab that was speeding down Broadway.