I was just minding my own business.
Walking down Harrison Street, a man approaches me.
"Good morning, young lady," he says affably. "Are you a VCU student?"
I admit that I'm not.
"I give notebooks to VCU students," he says as if I hadn't just spoken. "Would you like a notebook?"
I demur even as he hands me a distinctive notebook.
It has a brushed metal front and a thick, cardboard back. It's a really nice notebook, easily the finest I've ever had.
"Here's a bag for you to carry it home in," he says as I thank him.
There's no doubt that I'll use my new notebook. Give me paper and I will write.
But I am not, and have never been, a VCU student.
Is this the grown-up equivalent of taking candy from a stranger?
If so, I think I'm okay with it.