Student of Life Maybe

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.